Every year that May 5 comes around, I'm reminded of ten lives lost in a Chinook accident in Afghanistan. These men were brave, were strong, and were taken well before their time. Their sacrifice, and that of their family can never be forgotten.
Erik was literally RIGHT THERE as the Chinook went down. I had an idea of where he was, but as it should be when someone you love is at war, I didn't know for sure. So when media coverage began pouring in about the accident with no real details, I tried to ignore the fact that this happened around where I thought Erik would be, and put on a brave face.
I was knee-deep in college graduation parties, packing up, moving on and saying goodbye to friends who were leaving town before I was. The about two and a half days between when the media started covering the accident and when the official notifications to families were made was excruciating. Erik and I weren't married yet, so I knew his parents would get the notice before I did, and I knew from a past discussion that the plan, should Erik's life be lost, was for his mom to call my mom and my mom to come to where I was (2 hours away). So though I wasn't waiting for *that* knock on my door, I was dreading one just the same.
I went to work, I packed to move to a different apartment, but I couldn't stop thinking about the loss. Even if it wasn't Erik, it was someone. Multiple someones. Those few days drug on for years. I tried to keep busy, but I just wanted to sit with my thoughts. And my God, my friends would NOT leave me alone. We ate, we watched movies, we played cards, we drank. I hadn't told them what I was going through because...I'm not really sure why. It wasn't like me - I'm a communicator. But I'm also an avoid-er. Maybe I didn't want to speak my fears into being.
I had felt like a bit of a burden since Erik left - he'd only been gone a couple of months and I hadn't really adjusted yet. I was constantly checking my email, carrying my phone around everywhere I went - my roommate gave me a hard time sometimes, when she'd get up in the middle of the night or early in the morning and see me on my computer, frantically responding to an email I'd just received, hoping Erik would get it before he signed off since his access was so spotty, but I just assumed she didn't "get it" - how could she? So when all the invitations to do this, that or the other rolled in, I assumed my friends were just trying to cram as much togetherness into our last few days together as possible - even though many of us were staying in town, life was definitely changing, and I didn't want to regret not spending that time with them before we went our separate ways. So we went and did, while I silently prayed and begged.
Finally, I heard from Erik. He was alive, but he wasn't "okay." The loss they experienced was catastrophic. Ten lives lost in an instant, including his battalion commander.
I found out a few days later that a friend had heard about the crash on the news and rallied everyone to keep me as busy as possible until the notifications had been made (the media was predicting it was going to take days). They thought that because I hadn't brought up the accident, that somehow I didn't know, and they did their best to keep it that way. To this day, that remains one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me. A reminder that even in a dark hour, there is always someone to shine a light for you.
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