Stay Safe: Chapter Ten
What follows is a chapter from "Stay Safe: Life After Loss," a book that I wrote following the death of my brother, Robert James Reeves. Rob, only 14-months younger than me and 32 years old at the time of his death, was a Navy SEAL on the prestigious SEAL Team 6. On August 6, 2011, while on a mission in Afghanistan, he and too many of his teammates and other servicemen, lost their lives when their helicopter was shot down by enemy fire. It was the single largest loss of American life in the Afghan war. And because of the high profile nature of this event–being on the cusp of the Bin Laden mission and the number of those lost–my dad and I were part of many, many memorials and events, and the recipients of much outreach, and the point of contact for all those wanting to do something in Rob’s memory. This book chronicles the first month after his death. I am releasing a chapter a day starting August 5th as we mark the fourth anniversary of life without him.
Laughter As Medicine
At 5:20 AM the Wednesday morning, Dad was still not in the lobby. This was odd since he is usually the first to arrive anywhere. I called and got no answer. I assumed that he had overslept (or was still passed out from the previous night's copious beverage consumption, as we all should have been). A few minutes later, he called me and asked if I was calling to wake him up, completely oblivious to the fact that he was already late. When he arrived a few minutes later, I could smell the alcohol on his breath and it nearly knocked me over. Though we probably all smelled that way.Jerritt had yet another form for us to complete. This one asked that if additional body parts were found belonging to Rob, did we want to be notified, and have them returned to us or did we want the Navy to hold the remains until they were certain that all of Rob was found? I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience as I answered these questions. It almost felt ridiculous, like this was all a cruel joke. Dad signed the form, checking all the “no” boxes.We loaded up to head for the airport. We were leaving about 30 minutes later than we really should have been leaving. It was a pretty quiet ride, I guess because of the early hour.I heard Jon-Christian say something to Jerritt about stopping for gas, but really didn't pay that much attention. Thirty minutes later, he said something about it again and indicated he needed to use the bathroom. Jerritt asked if it was an emergency.Jon-Christian’s reply: "It is touch and go at the moment. I don't have the shit chills yet." I giggled a bit at that.Another ten minutes or so passed and apparently the bathroom stop had at this point become an emergency for Jon-Christian. All of the sudden he demanded that Jerritt pull off the interstate immediately. Jerritt pulled some of his defensive driving training out and swerved off the interstate into what was basically in the projects of Philadelphia. There was no gas station in sight. All of this was happening very quickly. Jon-Christian was saying he would go on the side of the road, he didn't care.Dad at this point perked up and asked if someone had to pee."No. It is more urgent than that."Jerritt whipped into an abandoned parking lot with a growth of weeds and bushes in the corner. Jon-Christian said that was perfect and said that he’d be fast. As he began to climb out of the car, Jerritt reached in his pocket and handed Jon-Christian some folded tissue.“What am I supposed to do with that?” Jon-Christian asked as he grabbed it anyway and ran toward the overgrowth.Jerritt just saying over and over again, “What he was going to do without it?"I was laughing hysterically in the back seat, curling up in the floor board as I laughed.We laughed until Jon-Christian got back in the car and said, "I just destroyed some bum's home. We had about seven or eight seconds to spare before we had a major incident in this car." Even Jerritt, who one would think had seen it all in his job, was in awe at the situation.We continued laughing all the way to the airport.We ended up having to return the car empty of gas and rush to the gates. The security line was as long as I have seen since right after September 11, 2001. I was worried that we wouldn't make our flight and that we would be sitting in the airport all day again. I was already travel weary. I had been traveling the entire previous week for work and had gotten home late Friday night when I got Dad's call on Saturday morning about Rob’s helicopter crash. Jon-Christian recognized the situation and found a security officer, explained that we were the family of one of the fallen SEALs and we were pulled to the front of the security line. I hated using Rob’s death as an excuse for getting through security, but I am so glad we made that flight.While we were waiting for the flight, we received an email from the church asking if we would grant permission for a news station to be at the service, taping the ceremony. My immediate response was, “We do not want television cameras at the service. We can't stop the media from attending, but anything we can do to keep it from becoming a spectacle, we want to try to do.” The Reverend agreed and we talked a bit about members of the military that would be attending and making sure we had seating reserved for them as well as members of the family.We made it to Dallas for the layover where we ate BBQ for breakfast, strangely enough. Then we all sat at the gate, waiting for our flight to Shreveport and laughing at the passengers. Jon-Christian pointed out a man wearing yellow tinted glasses and told us his dad wears something similar. When I asked what he can see through those glasses, Jon-Christian responded with, "The future." More laughter. We made it home to Shreveport safely.When we got home to Dad’s house that afternoon, one of our dear Shreveport friends, Miss Lettie, was just leaving the house. She had done so much to take care of us these past few days, and I know she has a lot of help from our other friends as well—Miss Melinda, Nan, Torre, Suzanne, Bethard, Miss Anne. I really don't know how we could have done any of this without their love and support. They were helping coordinate events and people for Rob’s service on Saturday and taking care of the house and the dogs. They were holding planning meetings around our kitchen table—once again a command center—to assign roles and responsibilities and make their checklists for pulling that service together. They presented Dad and me with the decisions we needed to make, then they made it all happen. They really were amazing. I felt loved and I felt the love they all had for Rob. We were truly lucky to have that support system.I drove to Little Rock after only a few minutes in Shreveport spent re-packing my bags. I needed some quiet time alone, time to regroup and rest before the onslaught of people arrive in Shreveport for the memorial service. En route home, I received a couple of calls about a news story on a local Shreveport station regarding our upcoming memorial service. The Reverend of the church had agreed to an interview where he announced that the governor of Louisiana would be at the service (he would not) and that the entire city was invited (they were not). The spectacle we were trying to avoid had just been invited. There was nothing I could do about it at this point except ask that the Reverend be more discreet going forward and assure that we had reserved seats for those that we wanted to make sure had a seat. We also had security concerns given the high profile nature of the service, those attending and the fact that it was one of the first services for the men on that helicopter. He apologized and we moved on, trying to make the best of the situation as it now was.
Read other chapters of this book.
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