Stay Safe: Chapter Thirteen

Stay Safe Book

Aug 16

Written By ereeves

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.

The Memorial

The memorial service was Saturday; one week after we learned of his death. Rob would have hated it. It was full of pomp and circumstance and tears and prayers and obligations. But, it was beautiful and I think everyone involved was appreciative to have been involved. The church was standing room only. All for celebrating Rob’s life. And that is why he would have hated it: he was so humble and didn’t want that kind of recognition.I woke up early so that I could get ready and be ready when people started arriving. The service was at 11 AM. Someone was having breakfast delivered at 8:30 AM. My breakfast was a Red Bull; I was exhausted and sick and not really ready for the day. R. stayed in bed a bit longer than I did and came downstairs dressed just prior to leaving for the service.It was going to be another hot day. I chose a simple black pencil skirt and a lightweight black cotton blouse to wear with the same leopard heels that I wore to the Dignified Transfer. I had lost weight in the short week since learning of Rob’s death and the skirt was noticeably loose around my waist.The first guests were Navy "brass." I don't remember any of the guys telling us that some important Navy officials would be coming by the house that morning, but they were all on point and acted like they knew what was going on when they pulled up. I don’t know if it is because they are men and just don’t think to communicate, or if they found out late or if they just forgot, but it would have been nice to have been briefed before these men walked up to the house. Maybe they told us and we forgot. Nate, Rob's roommate, was worried about the length of his hair. We met Admiral Sean Pybus, who was slated to speak at the memorial. Originally, the Navy told us that a Captain Van Hoosier would be speaking, so he is who was listed in the program for the memorial. But the guys kind of laughed and said it was good for the brass to be knocked down a few notches every once in a while. Admiral Pybus spoke, but the Captain was listed. I don’t even know the differences in their ranks; I felt bad, but I soon got over it. And we met the Admiral and the Captain, among others. They all seemed genuinely saddened, but I really didn't have anything to talk to them about. This would be the first time I met them, but I would see them many times over the coming months and learn that Captain Hoosier lost a leg in battle and could still keep up runs with the team guys and that Admiral Pybus had a dear wife that sent me letters and small gifts occasionally. These men were dedicated to the Navy and to the men that served under them.We also had a guy stop by and deliver a painting of Rob with all of his service medals. The son-in-law of one of my mom’s friends is a painter and he reached out through another friend of my mom’s to let us know he was painting a portrait of Rob, something he does as business for those wanting to remember a military legacy in painting. There had been emails exchanged about this all week—in between memorial service details, coordinating family arrivals, travel, military paperwork, etc.—as he was seeking information about Rob’s medals to included in the painting. Dad loved it and appreciated it. I thought it was creepy. Though I didn’t want to be rude. It was a kind and generous donation from a family whose lives Rob had touched.We had been coordinating with the police, as well as the Patriot Guard to escort us to the church that morning. When it was time to leave, we walked down the hill of our driveway to the awaiting vans and looked down the street to see it lined with the motorcycles of the Patriot Guard waiting to lead and follow us to the church. Dad and I got into a van that Jerritt was driving, along with Jerritt’s wife, Jon-Christian and his wife, Leslie. The police escorted personal vehicles, and the SEALs rented vans and drove us, the family. We had the family caravan to the church, plus K., her mom, Crista, R. and Wanda. It seemed well coordinated. Everyone was working well together.I knew that our route to the church had been planned for days and that the streets leading to the church were lined with flags, something Mindy had coordinated with the students she teaches getting flags donated from the vendor of another of our childhood friends who owns a retail store in Shreveport. Because I knew what I would see, I kept my head down most of the ride. I remember being at Adam Brown's funeral and how emotional I got seeing this same outpouring at his service and I didn’t even know Adam. When I did look up and saw the flags planted every couple of feet along Fairfield avenue from our street to the church, I knew I had been right to avert my eyes. Seeing the work of people I didn’t even know doing something to make this day feel special for us was heartwarming and I cried. And then as we got closer to the church, the streets were lined with people, with their hands held over the hearts in honor of Rob.When we arrived at the church, I had never seen so many motorcycles, leather and flags in one place. The Patriot Guard was in place, with their stoic faces and absolute respect. It was so impressive and overwhelming.The SEAL team men looked so handsome and strong and invincible in their suits and uniforms. We looked to those men to carry us through the day. They pulled the cars up in front of the church so we would not have to walk through the parking lot. They escorted us inside. The men supported us. It is funny how we all look to men as the strength in these situations when it was the women among us that really helped keep us together for the duration. It was my mom’s friends—the Shreveport ladies, I call them—that pulled the details of the service together, took care of Dad’s house, made sure everyone had what they needed and still send me holiday cards and check on me frequently.We walked up stairs lined on either side by Patriot Guard members holding large flags. I wasn’t sure if I should address them, or just keep my head down and get inside. They were staring straight ahead and quiet with honor and respect. I was afraid that eye-contact would make me cry again. Dad said thank you to them all as he walked up the stairs.We walked down a short hall to the church parlor where we were greeted by family and friends who would be walking into the church with us to be seated in our reserved section. I wandered through, greeting people and giving hugs. Someone handed me a bottle of water and a packet of Kleenex. I think it was Bethard. Then all of the sudden, or so it felt, it was time to walk into the service. Dad and I were leading, followed by the remaining 60 family and friends. I was extremely self-conscious as we entered through the front of the packed church and knew that everyone was staring at us. I blurred my vision and kept my head slightly bowed, again concerned that if I saw how many people were there and made eye contact with someone I knew, I would lose my composure.The church has a capacity for approximately 800 people. It seemed that the Navy and military presence at the service took up half the church. It was an amazing sight. Again, breathtaking. To see all of these men in uniform sitting side-by-side, row after row, there to honor my brother showed me how loved and respected he was.Our church was a special place to me. Though I was no longer a church-goer, I still thought of St. Mark’s as my church. It was a place Rob and I grew up going on a regular basis, we attended school there for several years, I sang in the church choir (with Bethard by my side as we used to sway our bodies back and forth to bump shoulders as we walked down the long aisle each Sunday), Rob served as an acolyte, Rob and I were both confirmed there, and many major events in our lives had taken place there. It was the place where I got married. Many of my friends had gotten married there. And then their babies were christened there. It was the place where we held Mom’s funeral service. It was the place where Mom’s ashes were placed for final resting. And now it was the place where Rob’s memorial service was held.Our church is beautiful. From the outside the architecture is striking and castle-like, as the church is perched atop a small hill. But it is the inside that I loved. It is a grand cathedral made of cream-colored brick and stone, with high vaulted ceilings and large arched walls held up by wide and ornate columns. The stained glass windows are colorful, yet tasteful. There are large organ pipes that can be seen in the walls above the choir seating. The pulpits are intricately carved wood, raised high above the pews. The alter is a shiny cream marble that seemingly glows. The aisle from the back of the church to the front is a long path paved of large grey slab stone tiles. I learned just how long the walk down that aisle was when I got married there. Every sound made in that church carries through the entire space. I remember learning about the specific details of the church’s design and use of materials when I was in elementary school, though I could no longer remember them now. Now the church was full of my personal memories and experiences there.Dad and I sat on the front row, with him on the aisle and me next to him. Then K. and her mom sat next to me. Jon-Christian and his wife, and Jerritt and his wife sat directly behind us so they could easily get out to give their eulogies. I know that Crista and Bethard were behind me and to the left, and R. was sitting with them. Every once in a while I would glance back to check on them. R. didn’t know anyone and I had basically handed him off to Crista and Bethard to make sure he didn’t feel abandoned. I could tell he wasn’t comfortable in the church, though it wasn’t something we had talked about before. But he didn’t kneel during prayers and didn’t recite any prayers or songs. He was a bit of a distraction to me during the service, just knowing he was there and that he could see me. I didn’t mind the distraction.Though I didn’t see it, my friends from Little Rock—Shanon, Allen, Misha, Duke, Amy T., Lars, Amy H., Matt, Drew, Joy, Kristen and Chris—told the story later that night of them crowding into one pew because they didn’t want to take up too much room given how packed the church was getting when they arrived. There were too many of them to fit in one pew comfortably though. They talked of all having to sit at once or else there would be one person left standing without room to sit. And when they stood, they all had to angle or else someone would be pushed into the aisle. These are my best friends and like family to me. I can hear the conversation without having been there: Misha took charge, because she always does, and probably lined people in an order that made sense based on their size and directed them when to sit and when to stand. And they all did as she said. I love these people dearly for being my friends, for being there that day and for making me laugh later that night with this story. I had really missed them over the last week.The service was short, but nice with hymns and scripture and whatnot. I tuned most of it out and sent my thoughts to other places. I remember seeing the mayor of Shreveport and my high school principal sitting in the choir section for overflow seating. I know that Dr. Hearne read from Romans and Charlie Burwell, Miss Lettie’s husband, read from Isaiah. The only part that I truly remember were the eulogies from Jerritt and Jon-Christian. The did an amazing job. They made everyone laugh and I think really portrayed who Rob was in life.

Read other chapters of this book.

ereeves