Army Sailor -- War in the Sandbox...
The Adventures of a Sailor in Afghanistan...

I wanted to share this short video (about 10 minutes) with you. Although it is very short it shows the incredible beauty that can be seen in Afghanistan, and it also shows how poor the people are, how barren the landscape is, and how desolate it all is...

Afghanistan being such an incredibly different world than our own, there is little surprise to me that my thoughts so frequently drift back to it.

I am hesitant to complain too much, because I know many of my comrades have returned from the war with far worse problems than mine, but I decided to give a short rant anyway. First off let me say that my Branch Medical Clinic (at Willow Grove Naval Air Station) has been very good about seeing me and putting in requests for Tricare.

I also have to admit that Tricare has responded to me much faster than I imagined they would. Usually within two weeks I get a letter authorizing any care I need. In fact several weeks ago, I got an authorization for my second visit to an Audiologist, this is the visit where I should be fitted for hearing aids. In the first visit they concluded that I had suffered substantial, permanent hearing loss. So I tried calling the Audiologists office, and I had trouble getting through. So I went into the office to reschedule, and they told me there was nothing they could do yet because Tricare had not sent them the required paperwork.

So I called Tricare back and was told they would look into it. So I gave it a week. When I called Tricare back they said I was good to go and I should schedule an appointment with the audiologist. So I call the audiologist back, and I am again told that Tricare has not sent them the paperwork they need. They finally did schedule me for an appointment at the end of next month, with hopes that the paperwork will be in by then, but they said that they still would not be able to do anything if the paperwork does not come through. They explained to me that the "hearing amplification systems" I am being fitted for are high-end and very expensive. I am glad to hear (no pun intended) that I will be getting some quality devices, but I am also starting to wonder how long I will have to wait. It's very frustrating to say the least, not just for me, but for those around me who have to constantly keep repeating themselves for me.

For now, my battle cry seems destined to remain "Huh? What's that now?"...

A friend of mine in Seattle started his own band called Parallel Mirrors, and he just released his their newest song that is going to be featured on an up-coming album they are releasing. I am a pretty big fan of indie artists, and believe in supporting the good ones.

This isn't a music related blog at all, but music is definitely related to war. Before I deployed to Afghanistan I bought an iPod so I could take all my music with me. There was no way I was going to go anywhere for over a year without the soundtrack of my life. My music helped keep me sane, as did some of my favorite podcasts.

I wanted to write this post in order to share this newest song. I wanted to share it because I think it nicely sums up the overall feeling I left Afghanistan with. The chorus says "...you can't lie down on the road and just give up..." I can't express how much that rings true in my heart. There were plenty of time over there when I wanted to quit, but I didn't. Few did. I think this song sums up much of that determination... So I wanted to share it with you here.

Please feel free to listen to or download the song from HERE. And be sure to check out his Band's Web site. He gave me a lot of support while I was over there, so I want to give him back some support now that I am home.

There is a young woman in Germany named Nelly who recently broke-up with her boyfriend who is serving in the German Army. He also just came home from Afghanistan. It seems that when he came home he was distant, and seemingly uncaring.

Nelly has my deepest sympathies, but I think this is a good time to reiterate a few things about homecoming. When we come home from a war zone, we come home changed people. Some people are very obviously different, and with some the changes are more subtle, but everyone who returns is different in some way. Sometimes folks at home expect for the "same-old-(fill in the name)" to come home, but that is never the case. War is a harrowing experience that leaves it's mark.

At the same time, those returning from war often have the unrealistic expectation that when they come home they are returning to the same life they left, as if the rest of the world had been 'paused' while they were away. One of the hardest things to deal with is the change that this will have on a relationship. While you were away, those you left behind had to find ways to get along with out you. It's not that they don't love you, it's simply that life goes on as it always does. If you were the handy-man around the house you may find that your wife has learned to fix things on her own, and that's ok.

Homecoming is a tricky affair and needs to be approached carefully. You can't just expect to jump right back in to the way things were. You have to ease in to it, all the while maintaining a great deal of caring and sympathy for the other person's feelings and expectations.

Another common mistake is to believe that it'll be ok after a week or two... For some that may be the case, for others reintegration can take six months, or more. There is nothing wrong or unusual about that. The important thing is that you understand that these things take time and need to occur naturally, you can't force it along.

My heart goes out to Nelly, and all those in a similar circumstance. I hope things work out for the best.

You can read more of Nelly's Blog, and her experiences while her soldier was in Afghanistan HERE.

I give a lot of thought to the suicide bomber who detonated himself less than 30 feet in front of my truck. I see it all over again in dreams. I can imagine it instantly when I hear any loud bang. When I tell people about the incident I feel strange, because it seems so alien. I feel that people must think I am telling a tall tale. I wish I were telling a tall tale...

I relive that moment when that man detonated himself in my head every single day without fail. At some point, if only for a moment, I will give it some thought. I always feel thankful that I am alive, because in all reality, if he had gotten his way, I would not be.

That can be hard to deal with, that this man killed himself in an attempt to kill me and my friends. I just can't wrap my head around it. What drives a person to such a deep level of hatred that they are willing to blow themselves up, just for the chance of killing another person? A person they've never met no less...

I can understand those who wish to engage us in battle. That's what war is all about. If you want to take a shot at me, I get it... But blowing yourself up? I can't fathom the idea. It strikes me as being an act of extreme cowardice, and an act of even more extreme desperation.

When it first happened I remember feeling very angry, and also very lucky. I felt angry that this guy would do such a thing, especially considering at the time we believed one our trucks in front of us had been destroyed. Luckily no one from our convoy was hurt, and there were only minor injuries. The thought returns as I write this... I should be dead.

I hate myself sometimes because one of my initial thoughts was "thank god it wasn't me". What an awful thing to think. Everyone tells me that it's a normal reaction, but that does not make it any less awful. In fact, it is the very sincerity of the feeling, the depth of it that makes it so awful. Despite the fact that none of my comrades were killed, or seriously injured, I hate having had that thought.

I used to get so mad at the suicide bomber who had caused me to have that awful feeling. I remember the image of his corpse when we went back to the scene. His body had been blown to bits. First we found a hand, still curled in the position it would have been in around the steering wheel. One finger was slightly extended, pointing in the direction where we would find most of his torso.

The we found a chunk of flesh that was once his thigh. It still had wires attached to it, and the flesh was peeled from the bone in a most peculiar way, leaving one jagged edge of bone well exposed. There was no blood. How remarkable. The heat of the blast must have instantly cauterized the flesh, because though there were some splatters of blood on the ground, there was no significant amount on any of his 'parts'.

When they found his torso, it was quite the site to behold. His face, was unscathed. It was clear that this man was not an Afghan. He was an Arab... probably a Saudi... his teeth were perfectly straight and very white. His teeth were in better condition than my own. His face was stuck in this semi-smiling distant gaze, and though you can see there was no life in his eyes, you can see that there was no fear either. His one arm was still attached to his torso, his head lying on it almost as if he were napping. His chest was blown open, exposing his bloodless ribs to the dust filled air. As you continued around the corpse, absorbing it's awful position, you could see that his scalp had been peeled back by the explosion, with a large chunk missing. I remember later using a stick to remove that chunk from the passenger side view mirror of a German vehicle that was ahead of us in the convoy. His scalp had become wedged in the mirror's hinge.

My own truck was sprayed with blood, and guts and burning chunks of tire. The explosion was so powerful that it threw the entire engine of his vehicle clear of the scene. Again the thought occurs to me, I should be dead. A large piece of shrapnel hit the driver side door of the soft-skinned SUV I was driving, and pierced through it like butter. It should have wedged itself right into my left lung, but instead it hit something inside the door and was deflected downward. I was saved by fate.

I was so angry. Angry because he wanted to kill me, and by all accounts he should have succeeded. What had I ever done to this man? I wasn't even in his country... He had come from a distant country to carry out this heinous act of cowardice.

As time went on I sat and looked at the photos taken at that scene. I looked at them over and over. I looked at them till I had his face memorized. I looked at them until the grotesque nature of the scene no longer bothered me.

The more I looked at those pictures the less angry I felt. Not only did I begin to realize how truly lucky I was, but also how truly pathetic he was. I began to not take it personally. He wasn't trying to kill me and my comrades specifically. He was trying to kill any member of the coalition that he came across. His was an act of cowardly desperation not only because of the desperate nature of the act itself, but also because of how indiscriminate of an act it was.

He detonated himself in the middle of a busy intersection, one where there were many children. Children love to run along side our convoys hoping for chocolate... He showed no concern for those children, or anyone else. His was a selfish act of desperate cowardice.

The more I thought about it the more it occurred to me what a sad and pathetic life this many must have lead. What a shameless follower of absolute lunacy he must have been. After all, who in their right mind would blow themselves up? There are better ways to fight for a cause. I almost began to pity this man, who's life must have been so pathetic, who must have been such a shameless follower. I could not imagine living such a life.

Though this man tried to kill me... though he did cause me and several of my comrades injury... though he was an incredibly selfish coward, I committed myself to forgiving this man. I forgave him because I did not want to spend the rest of my life with such hate in my heart. I saw what hatred had driven him to...

So now, almost a year after his attack, here I am. I am left with no hatred in my heart towards this man, but many frightful, grotesque images in my head. I will never forget his face. I will never forget the suddenness of the explosion. I will never forget that horrid feeling of the joy of survival. I fear that I may never forgive myself for feeling that way.

I want to move on... but I will never forget.