I had been in the military for 13 years.  Served proudly through the 9-11 tragedy as a supplemental lab technician during the countless hours of blood drives in hopes we could save at least one life. 

Back tracking, I had joined the military in 1991, wanting nothing more than to serve my country as my Father had, and my Grandfather had-God rest his soul as his shadow box lays in honor on my mantel.  Yet my job was that of a histotechnician; one who studies the anatomical structure of cells in order to diagnose disease.  Sounds foreign to most, but in laymen’s terms my job is that of an aid to help diagnose disease, as well as cause of death if such should happen. 

I knew after a few years my miniscule combat boots would never touch foreign soil.  My dreams to “fight the war” were set aside in order to treat and aid those that needed to complete the mission.  I did my job proudly, and with passion every single day.  Yet the urge and need to help be a part of the war stung like poison within my virgin veins. 

In 2004 I got the call as a member of the Armed Forces Medical Examiners team that an A-10 had crashed in Fairbanks, Alaska and we were needed to determine the cause of death.  Excitement and nerves shook my body, yet I answered the call graciously. 

With my husband (then boyfriend) deployed, I got my affairs in order, arranged child care and boarded the plane that would take me to my then current quest of finding the cause of death.  We arrived in the darkness of Fairbanks, with the chill of the cold already numbing our souls against what we knew we would find.   We donned our cold weather gear, and headed out to the crash site.

You could envision where the plane crashed as you scanned the horizon.  The beautiful Alaskan woods once untouched had been scarred by a knife it hadn’t prepared for, and the tree tops were lobbed off as if a Chef expertly took his knife across the tips of the Evergreens.  Pieces of metal and shards of glass lay in almost a set pattern in the triangle of death.  And we were here, not only to evaluate the site but to pick up lost pieces of a human that gave his life for his country. 

Our mission was finally complete after hours of scouring acres of untouched woods.  No longer feeling was felt in our hands our toes, yet I am not sure if we weren’t just numb to the situation.  We piled in the truck not nearly warm enough, and headed back to the morgue. 

The morgue was small, un-kept, and ancient in regards to modern healthcare.  Yet supplies were stocked, and instruments lined up so we could do our job in performing the post mortem examination of a man who was on a training mission, a training mission in order to keep our country free and at peace. 

I swallowed loud and hard as they brought the body in and laid him on the autopsy table.  I can only hope no one heard the cry that leapt outside of my throat.  Although I had performed hundreds of autopsies, this was my first fallen Airman.  And it tugged at my heart in way I wish words could describe. 

I saw his face, torn, battered, and burned and realized how young he was.  “Did he have a wife”, I wondered…”Did he have children?”  My heart sunk.  His wounds were nearly indescribable.  The act of trying to put him back together before we even started wrenched at my heart, and left a sick feeling within my stomach.  I set his personal remains aside for his family, preserving his dog-tags and other memorabilia that I know would be needed.  Yet I found myself stopping, fingering his dog tags in my small, numb fingers and I began to weep. 

Why.

He was just a boy, with an age I could look back at and smile upon.  Yet he no longer had a smile left to offer.  And I was horrified. 

I collected myself quickly, knowing I had a job to do which was bringing peace to the family members left behind. 

We worked, dissected, and investigated for hours.  Accidental death was the ultimate cause.  Yet I fought with the decision, more so mentally because I wanted a REAL reason.  I wanted a CAUSE of death…

This life was lost.  So that we can be free.  One life is far too many…

My numbing heart still aches, 8 years later for this man, this soul, who only wanted to train and ensure his country would be free. 

I miss daily, serving my country…yet the uniform I now wear is nestled proudly upon my heart, only for the proud, strong, and selfless to envision.