Elegy
A young Marine recently died in a hospital in Germany. In the big picture, he’s just another of the over 1200 Americans and uncounted thousands of Iraqis who have died here in the last year and a half, but he was different; I actually knew and worked with this Marine. His name was Kyle.
Kyle was a very good Marine. He was good at his job, well thought of by everyone who knew him, and was easy to like. He even looked like a poster-perfect Marine. Kyle worked in the control tower here at the FOB, so I saw him or talked to him on the radio nearly every day. I wouldn’t say we were friends or even well-acquainted, but his death feels like a personal loss.
Kyle was wounded a couple of weeks ago during a mortar attack. He had just gotten off shift and was talking on the phone in our “Internet café.” He was sitting at the end of the row of phones, right next to where one of the mortar rounds landed. I don’t know if he was wearing his helmet, but he probably did have his flak vest on. Most of his injuries were from shrapnel to the head and lower body. A total of fifteen Marines, soldiers, and civilians were wounded, and thirteen of them (including Kyle) were evacuated to Baghdad. As soon as he was stable, Kyle was flown to Germany.
It is ironic that the majority of the casualties we’ve suffered from indirect fire (IDF) during my brief time here all resulted from that one lucky mortar round. I’m glad they can’t aim or life would be much more difficult here. The vast majority of attacks blow up only dirt.
Once I knew Kyle was in Germany, I was much less concerned about him. I had confidence in the medical profession and faith that his path would be one of full recovery and resumption of a normal life away from here. It was not to be so. Modern medicine and surgery might have been healing Kyle from his wounds, but it was an ancient illness that killed him - pneumonia.
Whatever your belief about death and its aftermath, please take some time to reflect on the life of this person you never knew. Reflect how the life of someone you know and love, or even your own life, can be cut short without warning. Live your life so that when that final moment comes, you can look back and say you really lived every moment of it.
Kyle was a very good Marine. He was good at his job, well thought of by everyone who knew him, and was easy to like. He even looked like a poster-perfect Marine. Kyle worked in the control tower here at the FOB, so I saw him or talked to him on the radio nearly every day. I wouldn’t say we were friends or even well-acquainted, but his death feels like a personal loss.
Kyle was wounded a couple of weeks ago during a mortar attack. He had just gotten off shift and was talking on the phone in our “Internet café.” He was sitting at the end of the row of phones, right next to where one of the mortar rounds landed. I don’t know if he was wearing his helmet, but he probably did have his flak vest on. Most of his injuries were from shrapnel to the head and lower body. A total of fifteen Marines, soldiers, and civilians were wounded, and thirteen of them (including Kyle) were evacuated to Baghdad. As soon as he was stable, Kyle was flown to Germany.
It is ironic that the majority of the casualties we’ve suffered from indirect fire (IDF) during my brief time here all resulted from that one lucky mortar round. I’m glad they can’t aim or life would be much more difficult here. The vast majority of attacks blow up only dirt.
Once I knew Kyle was in Germany, I was much less concerned about him. I had confidence in the medical profession and faith that his path would be one of full recovery and resumption of a normal life away from here. It was not to be so. Modern medicine and surgery might have been healing Kyle from his wounds, but it was an ancient illness that killed him - pneumonia.
Whatever your belief about death and its aftermath, please take some time to reflect on the life of this person you never knew. Reflect how the life of someone you know and love, or even your own life, can be cut short without warning. Live your life so that when that final moment comes, you can look back and say you really lived every moment of it.
posted by Greg at 12/11/2004 10:50:00 AM
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