Stay Safe: Chapter Twenty-Nine
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.
A Command Memorial
I was ready to beg for mercy on Thursday, the day of the full memorial for everyone on that doomed helicopter. It was too much. The Navy was doing what they felt needed to be done to commemorate and honor all of the guys. I had been overwhelmed by the generosity and sincerity at each event and by the people that I saw even repeatedly. Everyone had been so deferential to us, to our needs and to our feelings. But as with most every other memorial, I sensed that the service was not about the family; instead, it is about all the others that want to made to feel a part of the process. The presentation and intention was about the family, but it felt like the reality was that it was for others. I am sure this was not a fair analysis, but I was so tired by this point. Tired of being on stage, of being kind to strangers and tired of trying not to cry.Rob had a rather large family representation at this memorial; I think we occupied an entire bus from the base to the convention center where the event was held. Impressive and not surprising: Rob always was the popular one. We were a force with great uncles, second cousins, aunts, uncles, first cousins, friends, K.’s many, many family members and of course, me and Dad.The day started early when we all caravanned from the hotel, led by our assigned Navy handlers. I carry a big bag full to the brim even on regular days because I like to be prepared for any situation. I knew today would be another long day, so my bag included bottled water, snacks, flat shoes, the camera, plus all my usual gear. Carrying this big bag around could have been the cause for some of my exhaustion at the end of each day, but it was like a security blanket to meWe were led from one holding room to another. At least the rooms were all air conditioned. I was so tired of the wretched heat. The humidity in Virginia Beach rivaled that of Louisiana. The air was thick and heavy. On the base, we were in the Admiral’s Club, or something like that. All the families were there, people who were starting to look familiar to me, though I really hadn’t spoken to any of them and I am not sure to whom they belong. From the base, we boarded buses to the convention center. The number of Navy, in uniform, lining the path to the convention center nearly took my breath away, again. I was still working hard to hold the tears back and stay strong. There was just something about seeing men and women showing support for families of the fallen by guiding us in through their lines of support that was so touching and made the start to the ceremony serious and reverent.In the convention center, after weaving through halls, passageways and up freight elevators, they put us in one of several holding rooms. In case I am not making myself clear: we waited hours and hours for this event. I understand that it is hard to move this many people around and coordinate to all our whims. But still, I felt like we were cattle being steered across the plains.We were briefed on how we would progress into the ceremony. Just Dad and me, and of course K., had reserved seating in alphabetical order of the deceased for the ceremony. Apparently this honor is reserved for primary next of kin (PNOK) and secondary next of kin (SNOK) (acronyms I could have gone the rest of my life without learning and been just fine), and then they made the requisite exception for K. as they have at every other event.Dad, K. and I were seated near the front. The rest of our family was seated near the back. Bag pipers played (what is it with the Navy and bag pipers?). Men with a lot of brass on their jackets spoke. More photo slideshows set to music. A gigantic poster picture of Rob in full gear and full beard was on display. It really was all a blur. I created this blur for myself. I blurred out the details. To focus on what is going on and put myself in that moment would have just be too much in a situation that is already too much to for a person to handle.After the ceremony, we connected with the rest of our extended family and attended a reception. We hadn’t really had the opportunity to visit with the family that flew to Virginia Beach for these events, and it was good to see them and talk to them. My aunt Michelle told a story of trying to pass Jon-Christian Kleenex during the service and he kept hitting it back to her. The story made us laugh at Jon-Christian being too manly to wipe away his tears. It was a nice reception with food and beverage that was good. But what was really special was the display that they made for each of the guys. All of Rob’s medals were framed in a shadow box. It was beautiful. And Rob’s teammates gave me a special charm bracelet composed of all Rob’s medals. We took pictures and drank beer and were finally worn out and ready to leave.We wove back through the hallways, passageways and freight elevators to find a bus in the back parking lot ready to take us back to the command, where we could load up our cars and head back to hotel. Jerritt seemed stressed. He has been working while grieving and his wife was struggling. He wouldn’t accept any offers for help, though I don’t know what we could have done to help anyway.We agreed to meet Jerritt, Jon-Christian and their wives at a restaurant near our hotel for a mid-afternoon meal and drinks, though Jerritt's wife ended up not making it. We had a lot of drinks. We got pretty drunk, again. It was the first night that I truly let myself go since we got the news of the crash. I wasn’t worried about getting people home or being a hostess or what I had to do the next day. I just decided to drink and have fun and relax a little bit with people that I was comfortable being with and talking to. And it was still early when we finally, finally left the restaurant.We dropped Dad off at the hotel and we went to Jerritt’s house to watch “The Big Lebowski.” But first stopped at the liquor store for White Russian fixings, in theme for the evening since we quoted Jeff Bridges’s line from the movie when the ashes flew into our faces at the burial, we though the movie and his character’s signature drink were appropriate. It was a fun night. We basically passed out watching the movie. I woke up on the couch in utter confusion. But the rest of the crew was up and moving early as the Shreveporters were headed back home on an early flight.
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