As I walked across the Walter Reed campus with Garry, David, Shelly, Owen and Barbara; my mind was lost in thought. Thoughts of what I had just seen as far as technology helping mend the wounded, thoughts of a brave soldier trying to put a Lego model together, thoughts of what I was about to face in the Fisher House we were walking to. See I was worried how I would keep my composure in front of wounded warriors at Walter Reed, because I thought we would be touring the recovery wards. In fact, I had told my wife that I was not sure how I would act. I know these guys donÂ’t want a whole bunch of emotional saps visiting them, they are trying to keep a positive outlook and the last thing they want is grown men crying over them. Since we didnÂ’t walk the wards, I had escaped that situation even though I had really looked forward to it at the same time.
I may have missed it in Walter Reed itself, but I knew I would not miss it at the Fisher House. Since this is the place that young men and women recovering live for the most part in their long term recovery timeline with their families I was pretty confident I would have a chance to be face to face with many of them. The last time I was with wounded soldiers was in December of 2004, when my Commander (Mike) and I went to Ft. Hood Tx to visit several of my “own” wounded warriors. On November 20th, 2004 I lost my first direct soldier to combat. On the day that SGT Roustum fell, I had several more severely wounded enough to be evacuated back to the USA. They were all sent to Darnell Army Community Hospital in Ft. Hood Tx. It was there that I had to face the soldiers that I cared for, loved, and treated like my own sons all scarred up. I am sure it was good for them to see their leadership take the time and energy to come down and see them, because I know it was good for Mike and I to see them. However despite how good it was to see them it was also very painful and just ripped our hearts out.
So fast-forward three years and here I was again about to face some banged up, scarred and permanently disfigured awesome young Americans. I may not know these guys personally, but that did not matter. They were still soldiers, soldiers that had made great sacrifices many times over. Soldiers that are sons, fathers, brothers, uncles and friends of many Americans. Americans that maybe could not visit them during recovery but would love to. There are also thousands of Americans that are strangers to these guys would love to give them a big hug and tell them how much it means to America to make the sacrifices that these wounded warriors have. It was going to be an honor to have the chance and represent all of these American people and let these guys know how much our country cares about them.
After getting into the House, we met some of the staff and watched a little video about the history of the Fisher House and what they are doing today and how they are growing. Once this was done, we walked around and toured some of the lower levels. I was impressed about how nice the inside of the House was. I even commented to Shelly about what attention to detail they had in making it a classy place. There were nice crown moldings in all rooms, chair rails, and overall very nicely decorated inside. The kitchen was huge with lots of cabinets and gigantic 3 door fridge/freezer and a nice big island in the center of the kitchen. The entire place was designed and built with handicap access in mind. The hallways are wide, the doorways are big and everything is pretty much at a level for someone to be in a wheelchair and get access to things. We were then invited to have dinner with the soldiers and families residing in this house as the Fisher House staff rolled out the red carpet for us. After dinner Garry, Owen and I sat down and signed several boxes of the book that would later be given out to the occupants of the different Fisher Houses on the Walter Reed campus.
Several of the recovering soldiers and their families were hanging around so we started talking to them. Of course they are all glad to meet Garry as he was the famous one, but I think they also appreciated meeting some fellow soldiers to just BS with. I made it a point over the whole trip to never mention my rank. The rank of First Sergeant (1SG) is a very well respected and sometimes feared rank. I did not want anyone to look at me as a 1SG and feel intimidated. Even though I was wearing a polo shirt that my Dad had given me which had a CIB with star embroidered on it (signifying serving as a infantryman in combat in 2 separate wars) I acted like a plain old civilian always introducing myself as Troy and not as 1SG Steward. I think Owen may have told a few of the guys what my rank was, but they did not make an issue of it since I didn’t . So I would walk up, introduce myself and just start chatting with them. I would ask them where they were deployed, how long ago they got wounded, and where they were specifically when they did. That is about all I had to ask in order to get them to open up. Once they opened up I think they enjoyed talking “soldier talk” with fellow soldiers who could understand. The more time they talked, the more they opened up. The stuff we talked about ranged across many topics from war, being wounded, recovery, politics, the book, blogging and trying to establish a normal life again. The more I talked to these guys and their families, the more I was impressed and convinced that today’s American Service members and their families are truly the best part of what our country has to offer. These guys are suffering what most soldiers fear the most, life altering disabilities because of missing limbs. Owen and I talked about it while we were there and we both agreed that while we were deployed, we feared being wounded like this more than anything…to include death. These young men we were spending time with impressed upon me that an arm or a leg or both are a nicety but not a necessity in order to lead a productive life. I repeatedly saw them take the most terrible of situations and turn them into examples for others. These guys were cracking jokes and making the best of the worst. They are still soldiers at heart and in mind, regardless of what the extremities of their bodies may look like.
I was truly flattered, honored and most importantly, humbled by spending time with these guys. In retrospect, I hope and pray that America never forgets what our military has done for them and more importantly what these men and women are going to live with or live without for the rest of their hopefully long lives. I hope that once these wars end and the mainstream media goes on to cover other topics of the day that the people of our great country never forget, never ignore and always thank the American service member anytime they get the chance.
God Bless our Military and everyone that supports them.
