June 21st.

June 21 rolls around every year, and every year I get feelings of guilt as I grieve a man I've never known.

SFC Jared Monti died on June 21, 2006 in the mountains of Afghanistan from wounds sustained while trying to save the life of Brian Bradbury. As I said, I didn't know him, but during his short life, he changed the lives of at least two men who are near and dear to my heart. One of them being my own husband.

I remember specifically the day I read that he had died, I knew immediately who Jared was (from having heard everyone speak so glowingly about him), and knew what a toll his death was going to take on those that I loved - those that I knew loved him. And I wept.

Shortly after their brigade returned home from Afghanistan about a year later, Erik and I were married in Westfield, Massachusetts - not a far drive from where Jared had grown up in Raynham, and we were moved beyond measure that Paul, Jared's father, chose to attend our service in his sons honor.

I'm afraid I didn't handle our initial meeting very well. I cried the second I spoke to him, and he began crying too. I was called away just a few seconds later and I hate to admit that I don't think I could have possibly moved away any faster. I'm ashamed to say that in that moment I was grateful for the reprieve. I didn't know what to say; I felt awful for his loss. I felt awful for my joy. I still don't know how he managed to muster the grace to even attend - knowing he'd never get to go the wedding of his own son. But I hope he knows how moved so many of us were that he did. There were 4 Soldiers there who had served with his son, and I hope he knows how humbling it was, and how meaningful it was for them. And for all of us.

Last June 21, Erik was able to make the drive from where we were in New Hampshire to Jared's grave on Cape Cod to pay his respects, it was his second trip out there. He and I had gone once before, about 3 months after Jared's death, and it wasn't a feeling I'll ever forget. I never knew that grief was palpable - but God, it is. I cried for Jared then, and I've cried for him countless other times. And I feel badly in a way. I didn't know him - his death really isn't mine to mourn. But I just... I do. And now that a child of my own, I grieve still, but a little differently. Every June 21, I cry for his family. I look at my little boy and I can't bear to think that the world will be unkind to him for even a second, never mind subject him to a violent death in a country too far away from his parents protection.

Since that day in 2006, Paul has done TREMENDOUS things in Jared's honor. There is a scholarship fund, a golf tournament, a bridge and an intersection in his home town. Not to mention a training facility on Ft. Sill bearing his sons name, the gym at Ft. Drum having been renamed in Jared's honor and most recently, inspired by an interview Paul did on NPR, a song was written about Paul's experience called "I Drive Your Truck." And of course, his receipt of Jared's Congressional Medal of Honor in 2009. His strength really does astound me.

You can read a post I wrote several years ago about the Medal of Honor ceremony here.

"I Drive Your Truck"

Eighty-Nine Cents in the ash tray
Half empty bottle of Gatorade rolling in the floorboard
That dirty Braves cap on the dash
Dog tags hangin’ from the rear view
Old Skoal can, and cowboy boots and a Go Army Shirt folded in the back
This thing burns gas like crazy, but that’s alright
People got their ways of coping
Oh, and I’ve got mine

I drive your truck
I roll every window down
And I burn up
Every back road in this town
I find a field, I tear it up
Til all the pain’s a cloud of dust
Yeah, sometimes I drive your truck

I leave that radio playing
That same ole country station where ya left it
Yeah, man I crank it up
And you’d probably punch my arm right now
If you saw this tear rollin’ down on my face
Hey, man I’m tryin’ to be tough
And momma asked me this morning
If I’d been by your grave
But that flag and stone ain’t where I feel you anyway

I drive your truck
I roll every window down
And I burn up
Every back road in this town
I find a field, I tear it up
Til all the pain’s a cloud of dust
Yeah, sometimes I drive your truck

I’ve cussed, I’ve prayed, I’ve said goodbye
Shook my fist and asked God why
These days when I’m missing you this much

I drive your truck
I roll every window down
And I burn up
Every back road in this town
I find a field, I tear it up
Til all the pain’s a cloud of dust
Yeah, sometimes, brother sometimes

I drive your truck
I drive your truck
I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind
I drive your truck