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.