Six Years After

If you can fill the unforgiving minute 

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

I wake up out of a deep sleep, flip over quickly and scan the room. Closet doors are closed, light remains off, and my desk chair is still where I left it; propped up against the door as to alarm me if someone were to enter. A sense of calm rolls over me as I realize I am still alone.  I settle back into a relaxed state in my bed, I can feel the anxiety induced sleep sweat around my forehead and my wrists. My sense of relief is transitioned to sadness with no change in the room.....I am alone. 

I apologize if the story shakes you, worries you, concerns you. It is of minimal concern to me, this is my life and has been for the past 6 years. During this time period I have transitioned in and out of two opposed positions on the events of September 26, 2010. The first, attempting to convince people that what has happened to me is no different than other people who have suffered through tragedy and illness. The second, trying to help people understand how different I am and how the way I see the world has forever been altered.

I lay there in a confused dazed state. I test my limbs to try and get a sense of the damage, nothing moves. I can feel the sensation of my body expanding in my own skin. Something is wrong, terribly wrong, what just happened? I recall running down a path and nothing. Why can I not remember? What is going on, am I dreaming? I am dying, this must be what it feels like to die. For a moment, I am able to observe the surroundings perched in a tree looking down. Chaos lay in front of me, but my mind stays calm. I see my motionless body strewn across the ditchline, enemy fire tracing our position, but I hear and feel nothing, "So odd for it to be quiet right now," I think to myself. Think Kyle, this can't be real, where is the noise? " Bang! Like a shot of lightning I am back in my body. The pain is noticeable, the fear is beyond controllable. I want to go home, the surreal has become real, please let me see my family and friends one last time. As I was loaded into the helicopter, and the walls began to blacken as I drifted away into a drug induced sleep, I thought one last thought: what a failure am I. My unforgiving minute, my sixty seconds of a distance run has concluded at 10 seconds and I have failed. 

Failure and negativity have permeated my life since September 26, 2010. Like a massive rip current, I try to make progress and the fear and failure pulls at me to return to the ocean of misery. "You're too lazy to be with"- an ex-gf says, "You'll never make it in the business world"- eyes of a classmate cut right through me after a comment, "That's not the way the world is Kyle"- loving friend exclaims after I describe a common rude interaction on the streets of NYC. Or maybe the most diabolical opponent of them all, the one who's comments cut the deepest, hurt the most, and consequently resonate the most: myself. 

We sat at the kitchen table as a family. It was difficult to count the numbers, what was 7 was now 6. Tough to say how long the silence lasted, no one wanting to make eye contact and tears running down our faces. Only 15 hours ago the six of us were in four different states, smiling, laughing, and living life. Yet here we were now, all in the same town at the same table. In a turn of events that can only be described as cruel, we sat, one family member short, forever. My Mom broke the silence and looked right at me, "Now we know." I looked back at her with confusion and said, "Know what Mom?" Without missing a beat and the first half attempt at a smile she said, "Now we know why God didn't take you from us that day. He needs you here with me." 

And so perhaps the most difficult battle of the past six years: beating myself up as a failure and feeling so passionate that I am alive and well for a reason. I feel so alive and grateful today, for the opportunity to continue to live my life. To do the things that others never had the opportunity to do. But, I also feel pain. I carry weight on my shoulders that is difficult and at times my back grows weary. I am 30, I have lost friends to battle, I have come in and out of death on September 26th, gone through 6 years of physical therapy, lost and gained my mental cognition, battled depression, anxiety and fear, delivered the eulogy at my 17 year old sisters' funereal and carried her until she reached her final resting place. It is not fair, but life often isn't. We do not chose who gets to carry the weight, we can only hope to help them adjust their rucksuck and drive on. 

And so with tears in my eyes as I write this, I realize; my unforgiving minute has just begun and I am proud of how I have handled myself in the first 30 years, couldn't have done it without the love and support of those who care about me. You continue to help me silence the negativity and have been a tremendous help in my relentless pursuit to be a good human being. 

Text From my Mom at 9:18am this morning: "Good Morning Kyle. Thinking of you today. Love you!! I know this is a tough day to remember, but one of celebration for me and all those who love you."--  To my rockstar Mother, you have kept me going through all of these years. Your love and energy are amazing. Through the toughest year of your life, you, continued to take care of our family and me. I can only hope to one day be as strong, loving and caring as you. You are my role model and my hope. I love you Mom.

Thank you to everyone who read this. And most importantly thank you to my family, who keeps me going through the pain, hurt, smiles, happiness, and fun!~Team Snook

When we go home, they stay. My Afghan friend CPT Ahmadduddin Ahmad

I lay on the ground as our Doc began to splint my right leg and put bandages on my bleeding right thigh. The sun beat down on my face as I lay grunting in pain in the ditch just meters away from where a hidden bomb underneath the earth had nearly taken my life. I clinched down with both of my hands as the splint was being applied to ease the pain. One of my hands was being held by "Bear" my friend and US Army soldier, the other was being held by CPT Ahmad my friend and Afghan platoon leader. Time seemed to spin in and out as I attempted to stay coherent as I could feel shock running through my body. I shook my head left and right, than I stopped. As I spun to my left I caught Ahmad's eyes, at first I couldn't make out his facial expression and was shocked it was him, but then it came into focus, he was crying. The medic yelled, "Let's lift him up and get him into the vehicle so he can be medevac'ed." Ahmad used his free hand to wipe his eyes, and side by side with my American Soldiers carried me into the vehicle. As I lay down his hand still gripped mine, he was the last to let go. He looked at me and in English said, "I am sorry I let this happen to you, I will miss you."

It's 6:00 Am and I am sleeping in my queen sized bed, in my downtown denver apartment, with the air conditioning set to 70 degrees, my laptop with wifi next to me, my cable tv still on from falling asleep to Sportscenter the night before. The sheets are strewn about and my phone is plugged into the wall next to me. It begins to vibrate...bzzz.bzzzz.bzzz...I wake up from my dream and think, "It's 6:00 AM why is anyone calling me right now?" I then reflect, "Man how my life has changed in 3 years." I look over at the phone and it says, "Bear", my friend and section leader from years earlier. I thought, "Hmm thats weird, I'll call him back when I get up in an hour or so." And I go back to sleep. I wake up at 7:30, walk into my personal warm shower, dry off, move to my personal sink and shave, brush my teeth. I open my walk in closet and select a tailored dress shirt and freshly dry cleaned pants, another day in corporate America, "Man how things have changed I think again." As I walk out of the apartment I shoot Bear a text apologizing for "being a dirty nasty civilian who only wakes up after 7 now." We text back and forth as I take the bus to work, and eventually I ask, "Everything ok? Ya don't usually call me at 6:00 in the morning." He wrote back, "Yeah some bad news. I know you and Ahmad were really close in Afghanistan, I just wanted to let you know he was killed last night." I felt my heart sink as I read the text and I froze on the bus for some period of time. I flashed back to the moment I last saw Ahmad and how much he cared, and the facebook conversations we had had in broken English just a month before this incident. I had lost a colleague, a warrior, and most of all I had lost a friend. 

I sat in my cubicle for the day at the office and began to attempt to do my work and reflect on the news. All I could think about is how the news is riddled with how awful Afghan soldiers are and how dire the situation is, and for the most part it is accurate. But, Ahmad was truly a different story. I fierce warrior who never wore a helmet outside the base because in his words, "The Taliban will fear me more." There are stories all over the 101st of a brave courageous Afghan Platoon Leader who countless amounts of times risked his life to save US Soldiers and to fight for his country's freedom, those stories are of CPT Ahmad. It is easy for the brain to dehumanize and prioritize life when placed in dire situations, situations that war puts you in. However, today I am reminded that when we leave the battlefield and go back to our downtown apartments, wifi and air conditioning the Afghan Soldiers we fought next to, we bled with, remain. Fighting for freedom and independence from a ruthless, faceless, uniform less enemy until they can fight no more. It makes me appreciate their courage, and it makes me appreciate the small things we take for granted in our daily lives back here in America. I will never forget you Ahmad and I am sorry I wasn't there to fight beside you in your last moments. 

Trite, Schwarzkopf, and Situational Awareness

Trite- hackneyed or boring from much use : not fresh or original

I sheepishly walked into Aldrich 09 and found a seat in the front row.  Alumni from the classes of 1972,1977, 1982, and 1987 surrounded me in the classroom that seats 100 people.  The room was full, individuals were sitting in the aisle.  I look towards the front, the speaker is being fitted with a microphone as the lecture was going to be broadcast in other classrooms since there was no more available space in Aldrich 09.  I felt small in a room of business tycoons, real estate moguls, and highly successful people.  I looked at the speaker before he began and he smiled. The speaker was my father and the topic was authentic leader development.

Twenty minutes in and several jokes later, my father moved towards his first story he wanted to share.  He wanted to share a video clip of General Norman Schwarzkopf speaking to the corps of cadets at West Point in 1991.  As he clicked the video I sat back and pondered how this video would be received. 

If you leave here with the word duty implanted in your mind.

If you leave here with the word honor carved into your soul.

If you leave here with love of country stamped on your heart.

Than you will be a 21st century leader, worthy, and I do mean worthy.

Of the great privilege and honor of leading magnificent young men and women.

Who are the sons and daughters of America.

-General Norman Schwarzkopf 

I felt chills run through my body.  I have seen this clip maybe 100 times and every time it elicits a visceral response. The lights came up, we were given a couple minutes to talk with a neighbor, then my father brought the room back together and said, "So what do you think?"  A man in the back row shot his hand up.  "Go ahead," said my father.  The man stared back with a coy smile on his face and said, "Quite frankly I found it a bit trite."

I sat in my apartment and turned on ESPN.  Outside the lines was on and they were doing a piece on Eric LeGrand. Eric and I have a connection, one he may never know about.  I snapped back to the first time I had heard of Eric Legrand. 

October 16, 2010-  I woke up in my hospital bed after having a nightmare and I looked over at my Mom who was asleep in a chair in the room.  It was noon and it had been a long night.  The nerve damage in my foot had kept me up for the majority of the night as my Mother held my hand while I screamed in agony.  I glanced at my foot, the bandage was soaked through in blood and I wondered, "Would I keep my foot?" My Mom now was waking up and asked me, "Lets put the TV on, you should watch something, what would you like to watch?"  After 6 months in an outpost that had limited running water, 1 TV with no time to watch it, I said ,"I want to watch the Army Rutgers game."  As the game went on I would dose in and out of a drug induced daze.  Rutgers had just scored a touchdown and was kicking the ball off to Army. I watched as Malcom Brown brought the ball up field for Army, LeGrand leaped through a block and hammered Malcom.  I thought, "Damn thats a huge hit."  I watched the screen as I saw LeGrand's body go limp.  He was not moving, his legs and arms were motionless.  Eric was paralyzed from the neck down.

As I watched the Outside the Lines program they spoke about Eric's fight to gain his ability to walk again.  "Believe" is his slogan that he uses to help motivate himself back to being able to walk.  I felt energy going up and down my body.  I threw on some shorts, grabbed my running shoes, and took off towards the gym.

I made my way to the 3rd floor of Shad Fitness Center.  I looked around the indoor track to make sure no one else was around and placed my bag on the floor.  I started walking the track and thinking about LeGrand and his battle.  "I have to believe I can run," I started to amp myself up.  One foot down then the other.  I began running.  It felt amazing, I was running again and the adrenaline in my body prevented me from feeling any type of pain.  As I completed my first lap, I felt alive again.  One foot in front of the other as I ran the track.  Then it happened.   As I planted my right foot coming around a turn my calf and foot gave away and I slammed into the track floor.  The feeling of pain shot back through me.  I lay there on the track and began to cry.  I punched the track floor and went back to earlier in the day, "Trite? Fucking Trite? Are you kidding me? Is that how my military brothers and sisters in arms are viewed? Trite?"  

I felt my heart sink in my chest.  "Did he really just say that?"  My Father turned around after the comment and shot me a glance.  I couldn't get any lower in my chair.  I watched my father and wondered how he would handle this situation.  I watched as the man who made the comment sat back in his chair, smiling, perhaps thinking to himself how wonderful his comment was.  I wanted my Father to belittle him, to embarrass him, to destroy him. My Father did none of that, he deflected and moved on.  Afterwards we spoke, and he was upset about the comment as well. When I asked him why he didn't directly respond to that comment he said, "Kyle, not everyone in life is going to get "it". There will be situations where you don't get it. In fact it is borderline arrogant to believe or think that they should get "it".  There was nothing good or constructive that would have come from publicly embarrassing him.  Let's be positive here, it did start the conversation." 

I didn't buy it at first, but as I sit here typing out my thoughts I feel as though I somewhat understand.  While I do believe the comment was arrogant, obnoxious and uncalled for it did start the conversation and the internal debate I am having with myself now.  For those of you who truly know me, you know that I am extremely shy, to the point of being awkward.  Sharing these types of stories is a quantum leap from how I usually act or behave. Sometimes I feel as though my true authenticity is never realized because I would never say what I write here out loud.  I feel as though situational awareness is a weak point for me and I am constantly working on that. Starting the conversation essentially is the main purpose of this blog.  I would never be so naive to believe that everything I write here is well accepted and agreed upon between all of my readers.  I do however find serenity in the fact that it begins the conversation, which in my opinion is always a good thing.

Thank you for reading.

Alive Day, 2012

I woke up on a table, my mind racing, I attempted to bring my hands up to my face.  They wouldn't move, and I could feel the restraints of the cloth on my wrists.  I started to realize I was on a medical table and my body was completely unclothed. I looked around the room and screamed out in fear.  A female nurse in the Navy walked over and put her hand on my arm.  It was soothing, I could feel myself begin to relax somewhat.  She leaned over and whispered into my ear, "Welcome back Soldier."

I sat in my one bedroom apartment, drunk, alone and dejected.  One year had passed since I was so very luckily saved and yet my mind was full of anger and sadness.   It had been the worst year of my life.  Crutches for nine months, multiple surgeries, occupational therapy to teach me how to add and subtract again, over 600 hours of physical therapy, ran every meaningful relationship out of my life, and had ended up so far from where I had started: alone.  My life had lost any sense of worth.  The one thing I loved more than anything in the world was leading soldiers.  It had been snatched from me by a nameless faceless enemy, who laid a trap for me to walk into.  They had stolen my passion, they had stolen my will to live.  Many irrational a thought goes through a grown man's head at this point and I grabbed the chain around my neck harder than I ever had.  Around my neck was a chain that my Mother had given me before I deployed to Afghanistan.  On the chain were two pendants and I pulled the chain out from beneath my shirt to look at them.  The first of Saint Michael stared at me, with his sword in hand destroying the beast, I moved to the next pendant.  Two hands clasped in prayer, I flipped it over and read the prayer out loud that my mother had encouraged me to live by:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;

The courage to change the things I can;

and the wisdom to know the difference. 

Amen

I walked into the classroom and looked around the stadium seating display.  One hundred seats lay in front of me and I searched through the name tapes to find mine: Kyle Snook.  I located it: Middle 3rd, center seat, 4 rows up.  I walked up the side aisle, attempting not to make eye contact with anyone as my social anxiety kicked in.  I made my way to my seat, and sat down.  I was exhausted, my social anxiety drains my body and I again attempted to sit as low as I could in my chair not wanting to set it off again.  As I sat there I thought about my year anniversary, how worthless I was, how I didn't belong to be here, how no one would understand where I had come from.  One person introduced themselves, I said hello and smiled.  Then another, then another, then another.  

I lost a part of myself two years ago, a large part of myself.  I have lost even more in the two years that have followed.  I have sacrificed morality, ethics and my core values because of frustration, anger and sadness with my situation.  I have pushed the ones who love me the most to frustration and eventual departure.  I reflect on this everyday and it upsets me.  It deeply upsets me.  One of the biggest things I lost was the sense of being part of something bigger than myself.  Being part of a larger organization or family.  

I watched as Brian walked up to the front of the classroom.  Section F sat there in anticipation to find out two things:  Why do we have a glass of non alcoholic wine in front of us?  Why is Brian holding us after class?  I glanced around the room at my peers, my friends, and I looked back to Brian as he began.    At first there was some noise, papers ruffling and cell phones clicking, as Brian gave the backdrop of military traditions and why it was important for the military folks in the room to pass those on to our sectionmates.  "Two years ago today our sectionmate Kyle, was leading a patrol in Afghanistan," he began as the room fell motionless and silent.  As he walked through the storyline that inevitably ended with the explosion that nearly took my life, my eyes began to water.  I had been tearing up all through Lead and FRC and wiping my eyes to hide it from my classmates.  I flashed back to four hours earlier.  My alarm goes off and I roll over.  I lay there in bed and I begin to brake down.  I am unable to control the emotion of knowing that two years ago to this day my life was saved and not taken.  I grabbed my computer and logged into the HBS homepage.  I clicked on the link titled "Absence Notification".  I laid there in bed contemplating if I was actually going to school today.  My eyes were welling, my face stained, and my emotions running.  I thought there was no way I was going to go.  And then I felt it, my sense of family, a sense of something other than me going on that I had lost two years prior.  How selfish of me to stay at home when others were working hard in school?  And why because I got to live?  

As Brian finished and the room began to empty, countless numbers of sectionmates came up to me somberly, some crying and gave me a hug.  The resounding message was, "Thank you, im glad your here."  And it occurred to me that since this event happened two years ago I had fought it.  Looked at it like a curse, the worst two years of my life.  I had never sat back and really looked at the other side of it.  I left the room and went to my Dad's office on campus.  As I walked up to my Dad, I began crying again, I put my arms around my Dad and said, "Im really glad im here."

My Friend Todd

0900 September 9, 2010-  I sat there in the tactical operations center of Dog Company and mulled over the task list for the day as our morning meeting came to a close.  I walked over to the mIRC chat computer, an aol instant messenger type system that allows different tactical operating centers to talk to each other without clogging up the radio.  Stewie, a 2009 USMA grad and our fires officer, was manning it and I asked like every morning, "Anything crazy going on Stewie?"  He mulled over a couple of the chat screens, scanning for any contact messages, and saw one, "Oh man, dismounted IED up the ARV (Arghandab River Valley), initial report says triple amp (amputee) but the 9 line is kinda weird so im not sure whats going on, no name given."  I said, "Damn man, alright."  I had been up most of the night planning for our next mission and visiting some of my soldiers on guard duty.  I walked back to my tent and fell right to sleep.

Noon, I get shaken awake and tackle the person shaking me.  It was a fellow platoon leader, but in country your always kinda on edge.  I said, "Damn man, you scared the shit out of me."  He said, "Hey man you have to go to the TOC (tactical operations center)."  The TOC was a good 7 minute walk from my tent and at 115 degrees outside one I didn't want to make.  I said, "Shut up Dude, what do they need."  He repeated, "Man just go to the TOC please."  This time I caught his drift, wiped the sleep from my eyes and said, "Woah no, whats going on."  He said, "Look man, just go to the TOC, Bryson needs to talk to you."  I said, "Fuck that just tell me."  After arguing back and forth about him not wanting to and me insisting he finally came out with it, "That triple amputee this morning, he didn't make it."  I said, "Ok."  He said, "It was Todd."

I got in the cab and was immediately asked, "Where to buddy?"  I replied, "Arlington Cemetery sir."  The cab driver shook his head and began to pull away from the hotel.  My mind wondered as I looked out the window, it shifted in and out of so many things.  Sadness, fear, anger, sadness again.  Not entirely sure of how I was going to handle the preceding events.  I got dropped off and walked into the gates of the cemetery.  I felt my knees buckle a little bit as I stopped and looked across the massive site of so many heroes final resting place.  I could feel my eyes begin to well, but quickly wiped my eyes, put my sunglasses on and moved out.  I went into the main office and approached the help desk. "Ma'am, I am looking for a grave site."  She asked for the name, relative date, and operation name.  I provided her all.  She then marked a map, and wrote down a number for me.  I thanked her and left the lobby.  

I got out to the road, looked at the map and set off. At several points the walking path ended and I was left with a decision, do I walk on the road or the grass. I did not know the proper cemetery etiquette.  I remember being upset with myself that this was even something that required a second thought.  "Of course you walk on the road idiot, you didn't earn the right to be on their grass just to get from point A to point B."  I quickly stepped on the road and continued my journey.

When I got to Todd's final resting spot, I finally allowed myself to emotionally breakdown.  I put my hand on top of the stone and cried.  A family of 5 walked past me, saying nothing, just understanding the situation.  it was the first time I had really cried since I was injured almost nine months prior.  I had pent up so much emotional sadness and it was all coming out of me now.  I was heartbroken because Emma had lost her husband, Kiley had lost her father, his parents had lost their son, siblings and relatives lost a brother or cousin.  I was heartbroken for his Soldiers who all Loved him and I knew they did because I saw it in their eyes the day I drove up for Todd's in country memorial, they had lost their leader.  I thought of Bryson and Jacob whom the four of us had been platoon leaders together and been through so much, we describe our bonds much deeper than the normal working force, so we too had lost our brother.  

I sat down, but continued to hold the stone as if it were an extension of Todd himself.  As I sat I thought, "Why? Why Todd and not me?  I don't have a wife or girlfriend, I don't have a daughter or son who needs me.  This isn't fair, it should have been me not Todd." I sunk my head, and only hoped that one day I could become half of the person that Todd was.  

I walked out onto the central loading area of 2-502, 101st infantry.  Thirty of us had gathered there, inevitably getting ready for the short bus ride over to the airfield where we would get on a plane and take off for afghanistan. I walked with my Mom and we tried to talk about anything other than what was about to happen.  It was a cloudy day yet my mom never removed the sunglasses from her eyes.  I stood there with my Mom waiting to get the word that we were leaving.  My Mom began to cry and she said, "Oh look at that adorable baby, thats so sad."  I turned and saw Todd, Kiley and Emma having there final embrace.  An all-american man, who feared nothing other than god, was an amazing husband and father, and hands down the best leader and mentor I experienced in the Army.  We worked together, we drank together, we laughed together, and we spoke deeply about very important issues. As I sit here two years after the passing of my friend, I am amazed by many things.  First and foremost, the unbelievable strength and courage of his wife Emma, whom everyday lives and breathes courage that I have yet to see matched on or off the battlefield. Second, his adorable daughter Kiley, who attended her first day of pre-school this week.  Third, for the emotions of Todd's friends on today.  Todd was such an amazing individual that two years after the fact it is impossible to forget the quality of soldier, man, father and husband he was.  

1LT Todd Weaver, KIA 09SEP10, 2ND BTN 502ND INF REG, 101ST AIRBORNE

"No more bleeding no more fight
No prayers pleading through the night
just divine embrace, eternal light
in the mansions of the Lord"

Love you Todd and miss you - KS

A Night in the life of a Soldier at Home

I have gone back and forth considering weather to post this or leave it for another time.  I think it has serious value towards understanding what it is that War can do to the brain.  I am worried that some of my recent contacts at school may read this and judge me or not fully understand the basis for which this comes from.  Nevertheless, I feel as though it should be shared and hopefully it will not lend me to the label of abnormal.


I sit down to dinner in my two bedroom apartment on the Charles and attempt to contemplate what has occurred over the past day.  I play back nearly every interaction, missed interaction, and predominately the failed interactions.  I flip on the TV and go to ESPN to get 15-20 minutes of zen before I decide to go lay down for bed.  I walk to the guest bedroom first, windows locked?..check, I walk to the kitchen, windows locked? check, I walk to the front door, locked?...check, I walk to the living room, windows locked?...check, I walk into my own bedroom, windows locked? Check.  I really enjoy my two bedroom apartment by myself.  I tell others I live by myself because the Army still pays for my stipend on housing, which is partly true, but as I go to bed I recognize in my mind that I am not being truly honest by leaving it just at that.  The fear of being judged, well let me start again, the fear of being judged negatively haunts me.  And as I finally lay down I see the walking cane laying in the corner of my room.  It has sat there lifeless for the past three weeks, not allowed to participate in my daily life for fear of being judged as crippled, weird, or fake.  I know my doctors who performed countless surgeries to save my foot and leg, would be furious at my withdrawal from the mandated support of the walking cane.  As I begin to close my eyes, I think to myself, "Tomorrow, tomorrow I will let my guard down and use the cane as I am suppose to."  I then drift off.

Bang! A shot rings out over my head.  "Gun team move!"  We are getting shot at and its very close.  "Move 1st squad up the right flank, 2nd squad hold for now."  I do a self assessment, my weapon, where is my weapon? Holy Shit I don't have a weapon.  I run around looking for it, where is my rifle?  I look everywhere on the ground, as I look up I am face to face with an enemy fighter...Bang!

I sit up in bed immediately.  I am sweating, my hands are clinched and my mind is racing.  I am on high alert, I look and listen for any movement....none.  I realize now it was a dream, a reoccurring dream I have had for two years.  I then turn to look at the clock, as I turn I pray that hours, or maybe even the whole night had gone by before this dream.  As I turn I come face to face with my clock....30 minutes have passed since I fell asleep.

I pull myself up out of bed, as I have everytime this occurs for the past two years.  I open the door to my bedroom and begin my preparation for bed process all over again.  I walk to the guest bedroom first, windows locked?..check, I walk to the kitchen, windows locked? check, I walk to the front door, locked?...check, I walk to the living room, windows locked?...check, I walk into my own bedroom, windows locked? Check.  I lay back down again, my cane staring at me, and I fall back asleep.

"Ok boys, no one move.  Just got some intel that the path were about to be on is highly laced with IED's (improvised explosive devices).  Lets get the mine detectors up front, get in a file and move out due northeast."  I take note that the men look tired, scared, and dejected.  I can feel the heat on my skin as the afghan sun beats down on us.  We begin moving and I can feel by body come to a more relaxed state as our movement is unimpeded.  For a moment I am at ease.  Right foot in front of left, stay in the path of the man in front of you.  It was not an uncommon practice.  I put my right foot out in front of me, and I feel the pressure plate of the IED as it sinks beneath my foot....Explosion.

I sit up in bed shaking.  I reach down and feel my right leg just to make sure it is still there.  I again realize the dream I have just had.  I look towards the clock.  Luckily this time I had slept for another hour and a half before this episode.  I pick myself up out of my bed and repeat my process. I walk to the guest bedroom first, windows locked?..check, I walk to the kitchen, windows locked? check, I walk to the front door, locked?...check, I walk to the living room, windows locked?...check, I walk into my own bedroom, windows locked? Check.

This is where the worst part of the night starts.  I consciously know I need to go back to sleep, but my subconscious has no interest in sleeping anymore.  I fight in and out of being awake and half asleep.  One second im fully conscious looking right at the clock, the next drifting off.  I think, "No, don't fall asleep, you know how this ends."  But I drift off, then come to, drift off, then come to.  This process continues for a long time.  My body never feeling at ease until the sun crests the horizon.

I get up out of bed now, tired but not any different than I usually feel from my interrupted sleep cycle.  I get ready for school and as I walk out I look at my cane.  "Nope, sorry not today."  I walk out of my apartment and head to class.




***I almost never write extra things after my last lines unless I find it appropriate, however for this again my fear of judgement within a new community that may read this leads me to explain a few things that may not be explicitly inferred.  First off, there is no rationality behind a lot of the things I do while fighting sleep.  I gladly understand that and accept it.  Maybe to say it differently, I know a lot of my fears and anxieties are irrational, which makes them more frustrating.  Also, I will add, this does not occur everynight, I wouldnt even put it in the frequent category.  But it does occur and its not in the seldom category.  The main goal of this piece is explaining to people the behind the scenes portion of war and what it does to people.  Its not pretty, its not sexy, it is often weird and concerning.  But this is the life that I live, this is the life that many of us live behind close doors.*****

Thank you for reading.

The Child that showed no pain

I walked across the southern wall of our compound.  Giant "Hesco" barriers between myself and the impoverished countryside of Howz-E-Madad.  Ten feet high, and atleast five feet thick, these giant sand bags gave me some semblance of security and safety from the dangers that imminently lay outside the dirt walls.  My platoon had drawn guard duty this Mid-July day and I was walking the perimeter checking on my Soldiers morale.  The routine was quite normal and one I had gotten used to.  I would walk from one tower to the next, climb the 5-10 steps up into the wooden elevated tower and speak with my Soldiers.  Conversations usually centered around food, girlfriends, current sports events, and occasionally when standards were not being met we would have a brief word about eye protection or glove protection within the towers.  I attempted to ask few questions and listen to what my Soldiers. had to say.  Often their responses were sarcastic and pessimistic, hey if you had to sit in a tower for twelve straight hours and see literally nothing what would you want to talk about?

As I walked to the ECP (entrance control point), an access area where all vehicles entered and exited, as well as the bases most vulnerable/dangerous point, I wondered what my friends back home had done for the World Cup final the previous days.  Surely they had gathered around a tv, with adult beverages, not caring about the game but just enjoying the company. As I approached the gate I heard the radio blare out in my right ear piece, "1-6, this is ECP."  I shot back, "ECP, 1-6 go ahead."  "Hey yeah, um, Sir, we have an issue here at the gate, you should come up here." I was puzzled by this, I put my best soldiers on the ECP since it was a vulnerable point, and very little rattled them.  Weeks earlier I was checking on them and we came under mortar and direct arms attack in the tower.  These Soldiers were the real deal, with very little encouragement they returned fire and engaged with every weapon system we had.  I had it easy, I sat with my binoculars and spotted their rounds as I walked our heavy machine gun in and eliminated the under armed and less talented enemy.  But, something at the gate had rattled them, I was now worried.

The vision that occurs next is forever seared in my brain.  15 meters from the gate: Ok, 3 local nationals and some type of wheel barrel looking thing.  10 meters from the gate: Holy shit thats a lot of blood.  5 meters from the gate: Oh my god there is a child in that wheel barrel.  At the scene:  there is an ten year old boy in the wheel barrel.  My medic jumped into action and began tourniqueting every limb we could get a tourniquet on.  The older locals with him were screaming and yelling at our Soldiers.  It didn't matter what language they were speaking, the message was clear, "Do something, save him," they screamed in Pashto.  The wheel barrel was atleast two inches full of bright red blood and the implications of this event were beginning to come clear.  I looked at the child as we worked to keep his heart beating until the helicopter could come to take him to a hospital.  Not once, not for a single instance did he show any sign of pain, of discomfort, no tears were shed.  He just stared at my medic, at me, at the sky.  Seemingly unfazed by the position he was in.  It struck me so hard.  Growing up in a society where when a child skins his or her knee instant whaling occurs.  This child was just blown up by an IED, probably because his father had commanded him to go implace it and it went off in his hands.  Or while playing a game with friends he had managed to stumble onto a deadly pressure plate laid 2 inches under the dirt path.

I sat in the auditorium in the basement of Spangler hall.  I sat in the back of the room, the very back to be precise.  My fear of open spaces and exits still sticks somewhat with me today.  I showed up 15 minutes early and managed to find some former Army and Marine classmates amongst the 10 of us that were early.  I watched as my classmates entered the auditorium of one of the top Business Schools in the world ( I would say the top one, but I have an obvious bias there).  The briefing began as many due in the Army:  Where we started, where we are now, and where are we going.  Half way through the speaker brought up a personal vignette that really made service to this institution hit home for her.  She spoke of a business/vacation trip to India.  She recalled seeing people begging along the route from the domestic airport and witnessed mothers holding children who were purposefully deformed in order to gain better profits from begging.  She then said, and I am paraphrasing so take the quotes with a grain of salt, "I can think of no greater love then a Mom for her children and to see that this is how desperate she was was eye opening."  She then concluded that she drives herself every day to mentor business students in order to positively effect the nature of the world at large.

I spoke with several classmates that night about the speech.  Most found it to be incredibly inspirational and uplifting.  I say most and I must add the actual nature that, everyone found it to be inspirational and uplifting.  Being authentic I have to be honest it did not effect me.  Then I spent time throughout the weekend reflecting on why a story like hers would not effect me.  I was ashamed.  Of course a story like that should effect me, thats horrible, a child deformed for profit?  Thats awful.  But, it honestly didn't effect me, it was another story amongst many I had heard about children being abused for the profit of their family.

I started this blog in an attempt to bridge the gap between military and civilian. To share stories, very personal stories, in order to allow people to see into the eyes of me, and thus a perspective of military leaders.  I certainly try not to speak for all military individuals but I do try to give a candid response of how I have felt.  Had I really been so desensitized to the abuse of children that a story like this didn't effect me?  I guess the answer is yes. Thats a scary thought to comprehend as a human being and I have been reflecting on it all weekend.  Before I finish I do want to clarify, just because a story like that does not elicit an emotional response from me, does not mean that I don't feel intense distaste towards anyone that acts that way towards a child.

I asked the elder, "How did this happen?  How did a child get hurt this bad?"  He looked at me and said, "bombs from the sky."  He then pointed at me and said, "You did this, you dropped the bombs form the sky on him."  We had not dropped any bombs that day, we had not had any missions near the area the boy was blown up at, and we had no interaction with the village in which this happened in.  My blood boiled, I clinched my fist, I wanted to punch the elder in the face, throw him to the ground and scold him for treating children so poorly.  For accusing my boys, for accusing my country, for accusing my name...Snook of being part of this atrocity.  But, as an officer in the Army I swore an oath, and I signed on to always complete the mission, and such a hasty angered act would support none.  I shook the elders hand and said, "Sir, im very sorry for your loss, we will look into it and please let us know if you need anything else."  As I transition to the civilian world I can only hope that my emotions come back, and that my desensitization towards issues of such hyaenas nature subsides.

I thank you for reading and hope this helped to see inside the world of our US Military.  Again these are my points of view and do not reflect the policy, tactics, structure or nature of the US Military as a whole.  Thank you.