Stay Safe: Chapter Twenty-Seven
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.
An Earthquake
The first service of many for the week started on Tuesday.We traveled to Washington, D.C. today for Jonas's funeral service. S. was able to secure seats for Dad and me on one of the Navy planes that was going down and back for the day, so we didn’t have to ride a bus from Virginia Beach. There were not many Navy guys on the plane. There were some, but mostly it was wives of some of the other guys and K.From the D.C. airport, we loaded onto a bus and went to the church where Jonas’s service would be held. While for Rob’s service, we invited all the SEALs and basically opened the service to the public (though inadvertently), I think Jonas’s wife was attempting to keep his service a bit more closed. There were still a lot of people there. When we arrived, K. was immediately swept aside with the “other wives.” Dad and I slipped in to talk to Jonas’s family for a few minutes before the ceremony. They offered for us to sit with them during the service, but Dad and I declined, not feeling right to do that. We instead, sat together near the back.It was a nice ceremony and several of Jonas’s friends spoke and Jonas’s wife spoke, too. She was a good storyteller and a great presenter, just like Jonas was. Though I was surprised that she spoke, she did an excellent job. It was during the story by one of Jonas’s friends that the earthquake started. At first it was just a rumble and everyone kind of looked around at each other. Then it went away. And then the ground started violently shaking, the chandeliers wobbling. Women screamed and people started running out of the sanctuary. We actually saw men in uniform drop to the ground and roll under the church pews. I had never seen anything like it. I have been in one other earthquake and it was over before I realized what it was. This was a completely different experience. Dad was truly frightened, his eyes large and his hands gripping the pew in front of us. Just as we started to move from our pew, the earthquake stopped. The speaker encourage the attendees to come back and sit down. He even made a joke, apologizing to Jonas, “I am sorry, Jonas, I must’ve gotten that part of the story wrong.” It was an appropriate joke considering Jonas’s history for pranks. I would like to believe that earthquake was Jonas’s way of making sure we all knew he still had the ability to stir things up for us all. The news later reported that night that the earthquake was a 5.8 and the largest one felt in the Virginia area in over 100 years. With that news, I felt lucky that no one was hurt. We talked about the earthquake all day long after that. Some thought it was a bomb, others a crashing plane, and others still a nearby construction accident.The ceremony proceeded, only momentarily stalled, and we moved from the church to a restaurant for the reception. Though it took too long to get to the reception, we eventually made it and really just talked to each other. I hate that I was at the point of actually forgetting when I’ve previously met people—likely from some of the other services—and find myself reintroducing. There are just too many. I was starting conversations by introducing myself, only to be told that we met the week before. At least people are telling me, but I just really hate when people forget meeting me and to not remember meeting others makes me out of sorts. I drank too much this day because I was uncomfortable and getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Dad drank too much, too, for similar reasons, I am sure.We rode the plane back to Virginia Beach. I talked to K. on the flight about Rob’s finances. She told us that Rob had set up an investment account for her, using her money, but had not put her name on it or given her any kind of access to it. Though I recognized it was not my place to tell her how to live her life, I gave her a lecture about giving Rob blind control of her investments. Being the primary beneficiary to Rob’s estate, Dad could have taken her money and she would have had nothing to say about it. Dad would never do that, and looking at the paperwork, it was easy to tell which account was hers. But K. was young and I thought I should advise her. Funny because I am terrible with my own finances, but I would never give someone else complete control over them. Looking back now, I think she could have taught me something seeing as how she was not even married to Rob, yet was being treated like a wife and I couldn’t get a guy to actually enter a basic relationship with me. Maybe I was the stupid one.Leaving the base after we landed back in Virginia Beach, Dad and I made dinner plans with J. for that evening. J. had been friends with Rob for a long time; I had actually met him on a visit to Virginia Beach many years earlier. He was going through a divorce now and had been living at Rob’s house when they weren’t on deployment. J. had been on deployment with Rob when his helicopter was shot down and was devastated.Before dinner, Dad and I met with Jerritt briefly. He delivered a set of SEAL “camis” to Dad to wear on the boat the next morning for the burial at sea. With the “camis” came all the patches that the SEAL team guys wear: one for Gold squadron (Rob’s squadron), an American flag, and one in memory of Adam Brown with an Arkansas razorback on it, among others. I don’t think Dad could have been more proud to be gifted this gear.Dad and I met J. for dinner at a restaurant next to our hotel. It was not a good night to do this. We had both been drinking too much prior and we were emotionally and physically drained. I should have taken a night to reset and spend some time alone. An introvert, I need that alone, recuperation time every once in a while. Being around big groups of people was stressful for me and I was terrible at small talk. I hadn’t had any time alone since the night I spent alone in Little Rock two weeks before. And, I think Dad and I were both worried about Rob’s burial scheduled for the next morning. We had been having disagreements about who was on the boats. I had seen a list that included many people I didn’t know. I was feeling uncomfortable with and nervous about the whole situation. I was being particular; Dad was telling me to go with the flow. I also criticized him for looking at me for all decision-making when it was his signature and final word that really matter. I yelled at him to make a point of letting him know that I was hurting just as much as he was. I pointed out that we only had each other.Basically, I picked a fight with Dad. Again. And I did it in front of J. I regret the whole thing because I embarrassed myself and embarrassed my dad in the presence of someone we both respected and who was a good friend to Rob. I was mean. I had been unreasonable, emotional and just generally acting out with the aid of alcohol. I meant what I said, but I should not have said it. The build up from the last three weeks of trying to postpone my grief exploded on Dad and on J. I was sorry I put J. though that. He was a good guy and I think he probably avoided us going forward. The good news was that I doubt Dad remembered any of it the next day. That was my only solace. Our relationship, the one between Dad and me, has an elasticity that only familial relationships can have: we can push, pull and stretch each other to limits, but we always come back to where we started and where we should be, connected and supportive to each other.
Though we didn’t get to see them, Jon-Christian and his wife arrived in town at some point during the evening for the burial at sea on Wednesday and full memorial service on Thursday. They were staying with Jerritt and his wife. That night, Jerritt was in possession of Rob’s urn and ashes after Nate had flown to Dover to pick them up earlier that day. Jerritt and Jon-Christian partied with Rob one last night, posing in pictures with the urn. Some might have found this disrespectful; I thought it completely appropriate considering their friendships.
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