He held him

We recently received horrifying, tragic news from our nephew who has been serving in Afghanistan since September.  It's a story that I am sure is told all too often - so often the press seems to have quit telling the story.  But it's a story that I think needs to be told - or maybe it's a story that I need to tell because now it's deeply personal to me.  And maybe the fact that this happened to someone very close to me - my dear, sweet nephew - and the fact that you too are likely someone very close to me - will make this story I'm about to tell a bit more personal to you too.  So consider yourself warned - this isn't a feel good story - you might want to grab a tissue or stop reading now.  And if I were you I would seriously consider not reading on.  Part of me wishes I didn't know the details that are waiting ahead.

Lance Corporal James Edward Proshek III - that's how the Marines officially refer to my nephew.  I call him Jimmie.  I am so proud of him - his courage, his strength, his heart - the thought of him elicits an immediate response of love, joy and pride in me.  I am so grateful that I have been blessed with the privilege of participating in his life.  He is 22 years old.  Two years ago he joined the Marines and in September he was deployed to Afghanistan.

Since his deployment we haven't heard much from Jimmie.  He's in a war zone fighting a war after all.  He actually has been able to call a couple of times to let us know he's OK - sometimes he's literally given only one minute to talk before having to hang up - and that's enough because the only thing that really matters is that he's OK.  We're always thrilled to hear he has called - that he's OK. 

But recently he called and he wasn't OK.  He was in tears as he explained how he had held his best friend in his arms - moments after he stood just inches from him watching as his friend was shot by enemy fire - moments after he shot back as his friend fell to the ground - how he held his friend in his arms and watched him breathe his last breath.

He held him in his arms and watched him die.

I can't even imagine.  I don't want to imagine.  I want to hold Jimmie in my arms and tell him I am sorry.  I'm sorry you had to experience this.  I'm sorry your friend died.  I'm sorry I wasn't there to comfort you.  I want him to know how much I love him and how much my heart is breaking for him.  I want him to remember what he promised me before he left for Afghanistan - that he would come home.  It seemed so simple at the time - like I wasn't really asking that much of him - just come home Jimmie.  I will be there waiting for you when you get off the plane - all you need to do is come home.  But I realize now that my simple request was quite possibly the most difficult thing I could have asked of him.  Come home.  Come home and face your best friend's wife and young child.  Face the reality of what you've been through but only now are able to process.  Face daily life and all of its seemingly meaningless struggles.

And I wonder - would it be wrong for me to tell him that I'm glad it wasn't him?  Because I am.  As sad as I am for this lost soldier and his family I can't stop thinking Thank God it wasn't Jimmie. As difficult as it may be for him I want more than anything for him to come home.  However broken and bruised he might be I need him to come home. 

I'm choosing to ignore a lot about the reality of Jimmie's time in Afghanistan and his return home.  I think it's a form of self preservation - a survival tactic.  I'm choosing instead to trust God - like I never have before - with my nephew's life.  To protect his body, heart, mind and soul.  To keep him from harm in the midst of a harmful situation.  To draw him close, hold him tight and never let him go.  To send him home to us - safe and whole.  I realize these are big requests but I know my God is bigger, I know my God is faithful, I know my God is loving, gracious and merciful and I know my God is always in control.  This alone is my comfort and hope.