The morning of October 8, 2005, the song He Was Born with a Purple Heart played in my head and interrupted my slumber. I would’ve preferred a dream, but the song worked on this hint of autumn morning. Sometimes we take what we can get.
Though I’d yearned to dream of Aaron, it’d only occurred once since his passing. That day: 2005’s resurrection Sunday. In the dream, my son wore long and baggy blue shorts; he ran and laughed through tall grasses, his eyes compelled me into an ecstatic moment. For mother and son, time suspended. He ran barefoot. Those long toes I’d always called fingers were especially vivid in the vision. I rose from my nap refreshed. Thrilled.
I’d ached to dream about him ever since the day I’d lost him; it puzzled me why I hadn’t dreamt about the son that was always in my heart, my head. The dream boycott—perhaps a means in which my mind and heart rested, stilled.
I strived for belief that he laughed still. Danced.
Though curative for those who surrounded him, sleep (much like food) had been considered by my son, such thoughts entertained, only after exhaustion completed its work. He’d much rather be conscious. Busy. He lived animated, decided. Emptied. He died decided, emptied.
The dream resolved a question for me. One never far away. My son, laughing in heaven, running, with no need for shoes. Doing there what he’d done here. While I doubted somewhat this was entirely true, it appeased me then, on such a symbolic Sunday.
In his book, Heaven, Randy Alcorn discusses the Intermediate Heaven, the location the apostle Paul referred to as the third heaven in 2 Corinthians 12:3: “whether in the body or out of the body, I do not know, but God knows.” Alcorn says the Bible illustrates that sometimes humans are allowed to see into heaven. Such was the case with Stephen, as he was being stoned for his faith in Jesus Christ.
I wondered if perhaps God had allowed me a glimpse of my son, permitted me a vision of Aaron’s joy. That He remembered me—encouraged me.
Mom often recounted a time spent with Mama Curry, my great grandmother. Comatose and filled with cancer, the woman awaited her death, and with her, her namesake, Virgie Belle, walked the respite of a silent pace, of observation. Determined to be there with her grandmother, she sang hymns, whispered prayers and called the nurses at infrequent intervals. Just in case.
Then “Interruption” visited.
Mama Curry opened her eyes and said, “Jesus, take my hand. Oh, look at heaven, isn’t it beautiful? Mark.” Then she shut her eyes and retired from this earth. According to the organization of her sentences, Mama Curry saw Jesus first (her escort into heaven), then Mark, her husband who’d preceded her in death.
I often asked Mom to relay this story to me even though I knew it by heart. Time has a way of numbing even the joy of vision, of hope. It’s only natural; humans need refreshed, need something new. So the song in my head , one the mother of Marine Sergeant John Harrell had sent me, quieted a perpetual question on that barely autumn day, “Why did you take him from me so soon, Lord?”
Because Aaron was born with a purple heart? How pronounced in him all the while.
Seven years old, marching through the backyard
Giving the order, to follow his charge
Saluting the neighbors, through a white picket fence
What seemed like a child’s game, made perfect sense.
I splendor in answers. When I awaken with hope instead of a hunger that can’t be appeased, I am momentarily pacified.
A sort of confidence is loaned to me when a piece of puzzle fits, when a glimpse of life’s mosaic pulls together for me. When I think I comprehend (to some degree!) why someone is gone, or when I’m reunited with something or someone from the past. The occurrence, meant to be.
I’ll ask the questions again and again—not just the “why” question, but all the questions I’ve asked in the past one year, five months, eighteen days, and about one and a half hours.
But. He was born with a Purple Heart.
After a while, a long while, I asked questions again. Though I’d already heard some of the answers, before, I’d listened in a numb state, a nervous state. Before. Yes, I’d heard the answers before.
As the night of July 21, 2005 wore on, my nervousness disappeared and my numbness grew. I rode with Greg and Kaika to Amarillo for Aaron’s posthumous Silver Star ceremony. Wine on the way helped. Helped something … helped me meet some of those who’d been with Aaron on that final day of his life. We’d already shared nearly a lifetime together, these Marines, Navy Corpsman, and me, yet we’d never met before. Not personally anyway.
Four hours and wine.
Once there, I indulged in a feast of barbecue only those from Texas could dish out, in a public place, but behind closed doors. Covered in red and white, checkered banquet tables held heaped platters of potato salad and pintos, ribs, sausages and other slicked juicy meats.
Waiters and waitresses poured endless glasses of iced tea and iced water into tumblers of red and plastic. Another beer, another Merlot, another anything.
Good times and bad, all mixed together, sat there in that room. Together. A speech here, a whisper, maybe nervous laughter. Rows of Marines ate well, lived up to their name, some had known Aaron, most (from the Reserve Unit in Amarillo) hadn’t, but they all stood when Aaron’s family first walked in.
I met them: Doc Duty, Sergeant Major Skiles and Sergeant Rettenberger. I met those who’d traveled this far to place a star in the hands of Aaron’s dad. Had Aaron been born female, the Silver Star would’ve been placed in my hands the day after barbecue. But the deceased hero was male. Marines do it this way. Male to male. Female to female.
It all sounded right to me.
Sergeant Major Skiles wore his Harley shirt.
Doc Duty had driven from Illinois then stopped in Oklahoma City
Just as he’d been before.
Sergeant Rettenberger appeared humble. Some mother somewhere must’ve been charmed by such a man. Large as life he was, his face, that of a baby. I had wanted a deeper look into those sad eyes, but they were hard to meet. I didn’t understand why at the time.
Then the next day, the ceremony. A lonely bagpipe, lonely friends and lots of family. Brothers stood tall that day at Texas Panhandle War Memorial in Amarillo
The Sergeant Major passed the honor of passing the honor to those who’d served under him. To “Doc” Jason Duty and to Sergeant Justin Rettenberger, the Marine who’d carried Austin
Duty, Rettenberger, the color guard, they all stood. Stood before Aaron’s dad. Passed the medal and the words that accompanied it.
To the father.
To the choked-up father.
And later that night, I asked Sergeant Rett, asked the Marine they called Rett a question. Naïve, I pointed to the medal on his chest and asked, “What’s that? How’d you earn it?”
He looked down, away, back at me, then down again. “For carrying Aaron.”
And finally, ceremony and conversation spent, our last face to face found itself at the cemetery, by Aaron’s grave. I watched them there. The noncommissioned officer of great rank stood behind Doc, behind Rett, behind those men of his. He stood while the two knelt at my son’s grave. One looked down. The larger one, yes, he looked down. The other, an angel of mercy in white, in wings and stripes of blue, he looked away. The moment was snapped by Rick Loomis’ camera.
That. Time in suspension, that silent hour hangs in my son’s room today. Framed word: Commitment.
Even with all this, I still didn’t know them. But worried for their safety’s sake, their bruised heart’s sake. And sometimes I worried just to worry.
And loved them for loving him.
For one reason or another, maybe two or three, I lost the answers to questions I’d asked. So nearly two years later, I asked again. About Aaron’s final hour.
From Doc Duty: Tue 1/09/07 10:46 p.m.
On that day I was woken up early in the morning by one of the other Marines in HQ platoon to inform me that 2nd PLT (the one Aaron was attached to) had been sent on a mission to a cluster of houses about 500 meters away in order to take out a suspected sniper/mortar position that had been harassing us the past couple of days. He said I needed to get up and get my gear on in case of emergency.
At about 1030 am (I think) the radio operator got a call that we had an urgent casualty (which I later found out was Zach Fincannon) at 2nd platoon’s position, and we needed to get there ASAP. We loaded up and trucked over there and found that not only had he been wounded pretty badly (he later lost his lower left arm) but that Curnutt, Valencia , and Covington
As we were preparing to roll away from the house, it came over the radio that we had another urgent casualty in the 2nd house and he needed immediate MEDEVAC. 1StSGT Skiles called for the XO to launch the 2nd wave of MEDEVAC vehicles. We continued to the casualty collection point over at the battalion CP about three miles away. During that time, the CO had ordered a withdrawal and told the XO to stay where he was and that they’d bring the casualties to him.
After we offloaded the four that we had, the rest of the MEDEVAC crew took off to the hospital with the 1st set of four. I elected to remain at the CCP to wait for this second guy (we didn’t know who it was or what had happened). After about twenty minutes of waiting, I saw the Company Gunny, who had gone back to the FOB for ammo re-supply, pull up into the Battalion area because he had heard over the radio what was going on. He told me that if they hadn’t shown up in five minutes, we’d go get them.
Five minutes passed and we had just loaded up when two more HUMMVEE’s came barreling into the area and screeched to a halt in front of the door to the BAS (Battalion Aid Station). One of them had Gomez-Perez, Magana, and someone else (my memory eludes me) in it, and the other had Aaron by himself. After checking on those three guys to make sure they wouldn’t die on the trip, I went over to where Aaron lay stretched out on the wooden trunk in the bed of the truck. He was still alive and breathing and someone else was talking to him.
I jumped into the truck with LT Cooper (our Doc) and started to assess him for transport. He started slipping during that. Someone (who we later found out was the 18D Army special forces medic) had performed a cricothyroidotomy (where you cut a hole in the throat and insert a tube so he could breathe), and had put the wrong tube in. We didn’t see why he’d done it in the first place, because #1: Aaron didn’t have an airway injury; he was hit in the chest, and #2: he did it incorrectly. He had also inserted an IO IV line, which is where you insert the catheter in the sternum bone, which was done correctly, and necessary at this time as Aaron’s veins had collapsed from blood loss.
We tried to unf--- the cric and insert the proper size tube, which we finally did, and then I performed a needle chest decompression which is the preferred treatment for chest injuries, because it relieves the pressure on the lungs and heart caused by a sucking chest wound. Aaron had two of them. After re-bandaging those two wounds, which were done hastily and sloppy (due to the amount of fire they were taking I’m sure) we checked the line in his chest bone.
During his thrashing about (some of those procedures are uncomfortable to say the least, but they work) he had ripped the line out. I decided not to waste time trying to start another one. He died shortly after, right after I came back from checking on the other wounded guys one more time before we rolled. I revived him with a cardiac thump and screamed for someone to get me an Ambu-bag, which we use in the field to artificially ventilate the wounded. One was tossed to me and Dr Cooper reminded me that I probably shouldn’t try to resuscitate him due to the lack of successful attempts in medical history.
“F--- That Sir!!!” I screamed at him, and then told the drivers to roll. He stopped breathing again after about five minutes and I hooked the Ambu-bag to the tube in his throat and instructed one the Combat Aidsmen Marines (given special first aid training to assist us when we are wounded or we have too many to handle on our own) on how and when to compress it, thereby forcing air into his lungs. I checked his pulse and found none. So, against my Dr’s orders, I began CPR. I continued it the entire ride to the hospital and every now and then (when you're supposed to), I felt for a pulse and found one.
When we arrived at the hospital, he had a weak pulse and was still being bagged by SSGT Gresham
I found out later that Aaron had passed again during prep for surgery. I guess if I’da stopped, he’da died then too. But I wasn’t letting him go. They tried again and again, but couldn’t bring him back from that one.
He was pronounced dead by the doctor there. We prayed over his body for a moment and the Echo Honor Guard (1STSGT Skiles, me, and two other Marines—I can’t remember which ones they were) carried him to the morgue. We loaded up and went back to the defensive position where I gave my report to the Company CO, CAPT Zembiec, and I know I saw a tear in his eye.
There isn’t much more to tell, but if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask—Doc Duty
From De’on: Wed, 10 Jan 2007 16:08:11
Thank you. This means a lot to me. Maybe Sgt. Rett can tell me “the before.”
Magana rode with Aaron at some point didn't he? Because Magana said that he'd held his hand. He kept calling Aaron’s name and telling him he was going to be okay.
He said Aaron nodded and then in a little bit his hand went limp.
Sgt. Rett left a message on Aaron's board. Sounds like recruiting is tough.
From Doc Duty: Thu 1/11/07 12:48 AM
Maybe Rett can. I know Aaron and Magana were next to each other in the Co casualty collection point before they loaded them up and brought them to me, so maybe that’s where that happened. I'll be thinking about you. Take care. Doc Duty
From De’on: Tue, 16 Jan 2007 20:26:45
Hi Doc,
I do have a couple of questions.
Is there a chance that Aaron might have made it easier if they had not put the trach in? Not that it matters so much now, but it is a question I have to ask.
Is there a chance that Aaron might have made it easier if they had not put the trach in? Not that it matters so much now, but it is a question I have to ask.
Do people survive a sucking chest wound?
Did you personally know Aaron or ever hang out with him?
Once the trach was in, I don't guess there's any possibility of him talking, was there?
Was he coherent as to what was happening to him at all?
Any last words or signs, nods, anything like that?
It's like, without you, it wasn't going to happen, huh? I will always appreciate everything you did to save him and I hope it doesn't bother you when I tell you I love you, because it's true. I really do.
Are you okay? What do you do to deal with everything?
From Doc Duty: Wed 1/17/07 2:34 AM
Hi De'on, no problem, I can answer those for you:
#1: The trach didn't really affect him either way, it didn't do anything for
what his wound was, but it didn't hurt him either. I mean I’m sure it was
kind of painful putting it in, but I'm not a Monday morning quarterback, if
the other medic thought it was necessary, I'll agree with him on it.
#2: People do survive sucking chest wounds, if treated quickly enough. The
time delay in him getting treatment due to the amount of fire on the roof
and the platoon’s withdrawal from the area probably contributed to the fact,
but there is only so much we can do in the field to begin with. I'm sorry about
that.
#3: I knew Aaron very well, in fact, most of those pictures of him and the
guys inSingapore
#1: The trach didn't really affect him either way, it didn't do anything for
what his wound was, but it didn't hurt him either. I mean I’m sure it was
kind of painful putting it in, but I'm not a Monday morning quarterback, if
the other medic thought it was necessary, I'll agree with him on it.
#2: People do survive sucking chest wounds, if treated quickly enough. The
time delay in him getting treatment due to the amount of fire on the roof
and the platoon’s withdrawal from the area probably contributed to the fact,
but there is only so much we can do in the field to begin with. I'm sorry about
that.
#3: I knew Aaron very well, in fact, most of those pictures of him and the
guys in
#4: No, once the trach is in, talking is VERY difficult and can be heard,
but I only heard him say one word: “PLEASE.”
#5: I don’t rightly KNOW if he was coherent, but I think he was, he locked
eyes with me a couple of times and when it came down towards the end, he kept
trying to (I think) get up like he wanted to FIGHT death.
#6: The last word I heard from him was a raspy "please" and then he was
alive but kind of blanked out. He was there, but he wasn't, if you can understand that.
I don't really know what you mean about "without me it wasn't going to
happen" maybe you could explain that to me.
#7: I am ok, I can sleep at night and I know I did everything I could. I
tried and that makes a difference to me. How do I deal with it? Same way I
dealt with my divorce I guess. Beer when I’m at home and my job when I’m not.
but I only heard him say one word: “PLEASE.”
#5: I don’t rightly KNOW if he was coherent, but I think he was, he locked
eyes with me a couple of times and when it came down towards the end, he kept
trying to (I think) get up like he wanted to FIGHT death.
#6: The last word I heard from him was a raspy "please" and then he was
alive but kind of blanked out. He was there, but he wasn't, if you can understand that.
I don't really know what you mean about "without me it wasn't going to
happen" maybe you could explain that to me.
#7: I am ok, I can sleep at night and I know I did everything I could. I
tried and that makes a difference to me. How do I deal with it? Same way I
dealt with my divorce I guess. Beer when I’m at home and my job when I’m not.
You telling me you love me doesn't bother me; it's nice to know that someone in this world does. Take care and I hope to hear from you soon.
From De’on: Wed, 17 Jan 2007 03:20:41
Bless your heart. I know you did everything you could. I know everyone did. I've never doubted that, and I know it was God who took him. I so wish I could've been there for him those last minutes.
Bless your heart. I know you did everything you could. I know everyone did. I've never doubted that, and I know it was God who took him. I so wish I could've been there for him those last minutes.
What I meant was, as long as you were working, you kept his pulse going. But of course, that couldn't have lasted. But I bet he felt your strength. I'm glad you knew him. I figured you must have since you drove to Amarillo
He was my crazy kid and I know I miss that. And I care very much, and thank you so much.
These were answers I expected, but thought I'd try to make sure from you since you're the one with the experience. You take care and I'll be in touch soon.
From Doc Duty: Wed 1/17/07 5:48 AM
Don't bless me ma'am, as I don't think much will keep me from where I'm going
in the next world. I did try, I tried my best, I miss him and I'm sorry (so danged sorry) that I couldn't do more, but knowing that I did my best is what allows me to sleep at night. You take care.
Hope to hear from you soon.
in the next world. I did try, I tried my best, I miss him and I'm sorry (so danged sorry) that I couldn't do more, but knowing that I did my best is what allows me to sleep at night. You take care.
Hope to hear from you soon.
And for the messages of other purpled hearts, I daily check their pulse on Aaron’s message board.
Hearts there, speak for themselves.
"To Aaron’s mom,
I was in a meeting on Friday and they talked about Aaron’s Silver Star. 1st Marines is sending a few Marines down for his awards presentation. I put my name in, so I hope I can attend. If not, please let me know how everything goes.
R/S SGT. Rettenberger U.S.M.C"
"July 10, 2005
Dearest Sgt. Rettenberger,
My prayers are that you will be selected, so we're just going to believe that you will be. I can't wait to meet you.
Today is the first day I could go back to Aaron's scrapbook since April 13, 2004. I feel his and our Father's Spirit urging me forward. I believe the daily prayer of Ephesians 3:14-21 is working such a healing in this stage of acceptance. I watched up until the final day as Berry Lee, 85 years old, spent 6 days in a chair, facing this transition of earth to heaven. It inspired me and I know that Aaron's smile will be one of the first things I see when I make this transition. I hope to do it like them: head on and without fear!
I love you,
De’on"
"Bless you and all of the Regiment. We look forward to meeting you and we appreciate so much the care with which this has been handled. But even more, we appreciate all that each of you do and sacrifice for all of us, each day.
It has been a pleasure talking with SgtMaj. Skiles and I'm so anxious to meet you, Sgt Rettenberger, and Doc Duty.
And thank you for visiting this site. It is a lifeline to so many of us, not only to share scraps of memories concerning Aaron, but to see how everyone else is doing as well.
Two years ago, part of Aaron's family had the pleasure of meeting Jamie Vance, Brandt Clifford and Jose Cruz. Then last year at the Marine Ball, we were able to meet so many more. It truly has blessed us in a way that can't be expressed.
I keep in contact with LCpl. David Bryant's wife, Sgt Magana, and Cpl. John Harrell's mom, so I'm able to stay in the loop some.
There will never be a day that we're not interested in the brothers of Aaron. Though you all may be ours by proxy now, I believe with all my heart that if Aaron is allowed to know even a little bit of the happenings here, that he is blessed by what he sees. And amazed, no doubt.
Again, thank you and God keep you all,
De’on"
"You did it baby, you are a hero. You are our hero, the Marines’ and America
Lisa Jewell of Lovington , N.M.
"Sgt. Rettenberger:
I hope I spelled your name right, I am Jerrod’s mom. Aaron called me his second mom. I really appreciate the many thoughtful things you have done to make this moment more special for De’on. Just knowing you were there with Aaron during his last moments made all of us feel better.
He was special to my son and me. He was best friend and brother to Jerrod. I miss him a lot, but I'm very proud of the man and Marine he became. We are all at De’on's tonight. I couldn't be at the Silver Star presentation, so De’on was sharing all the pictures and articles with me. They all were so special to me. I called my son and read everything to him over the phone. A lot of people just don’t understand that my son lost a piece of his heart that day also. For Jerrod, there will never be another Aaron, but a lot of good came out of this. It’s brought a lot of people closer. To a lot of people, Aaron was truly a Hero.
I lost my son, Chris, five years ago to suicide, so De’on and I cry a lot over our boys. We miss them a lot and can relate to the pain. Thanks again for putting closure to a lot of the things we wanted to know about Aaron's last moments.
We’ll never forget our Marine, Aaron C. Austin, and we'll never forget all the Marines that loved him so much. God Bless each and every one of you.
Always Aaron's proud second Mom, Donna from Lovington , NM
"Aaron, you finally got the Silver Star you so much deserved. I wish you could be here to see how proud everyone is of you. I don't know what De’on and I would have done without each other this past year. I feel I can finally grieve over Chris and not be afraid of what everyone else thinks. She has helped me a lot in dealing with my loss of Chris. I hope I have helped her in some way, too. You were an awesome kid and I will always remember you with love and respect. I know I will see you again. Take care of everyone for us and tell Chris I love and miss him lots.
Always Donna"
"Days have gone by since my trip to Texas and for the first few nights I slept better. I thought my short slept nights were over, but I was wrong. I guess I don’t complain, because it doesn’t bother me that I think about you guys so much.
To tell you the truth, I went to bed last night around midnight and then I was up at 2:30 until 5:30 when my girl came and brought me back to bed. I know everyone deals with things in their own way, but today things hit me a little harder because I guess it bothers me that there are those people who forget about all that we have given and the price that all of you have paid.
R.I.P. brothers and until we meet again, know that I will stand my post until the end.
R/S
SGT Justin Rettenberger"
"Dearest Sgt. Rett,
It is not meant for them to remember, honey. I don't know why, and it hurts me too, but for some reason their purpose is not the same as ours. When God takes you into the Fellowship of His Suffering, it is because He trusts you there. It is not meant for everyone. But He holds all wisdom and knowledge and EVERYTHING will end up serving some purpose for the furtherance of His Kingdom. There will be those who don't care, who live a gay life always and have no need of reaching further. He made their hearts too, and only He knows why. If you suffer much, perhaps it is because He needs you there, to dig deeper and to take it all to the only ONE who can really help, and that is God.
We will never forget and you will never forget. Yes, others will. It's another price paid by all of us for Freedom. If we've always lived in it, we take it for granted.
I can't speak of you without tears filling my eyes. I will never forget you. Perhaps you will never forget all the pain. Maybe you're not supposed to. But I do know you have to continue to move forward. God promises that He will make the crooked places straight and that He will perfect that which concerneth us. He will. But along the way, there are others who suffer from multiple hurts. Because you suffer, you will recognize them. And you will be able to minister to them ... like you ministered to us.
I will always pray for you and all those who suffer and mourn.
I am always here for you. Aaron has been freed from it. One day, we will be too, but not until our purpose is met. It is all for His Kingdom. If it were not, Jesus would have been spared suffering.
Watch these two movies: "The Passion" and "Hotel Rwanda." Pray much. Get away from noise for some part of each day and just listen to nature. It will bring some peace to you. Be still and KNOW that He is God.
And please, always feel free to contact me. Always.
I love you,
De'on"
"Aaron,
It’s late and you were on my mind so I just wanted to post a hello. You will never be forgotten. Please look after the souls of those Marines who have recently passed. Forever the Marines of Echo Company … 2/1
R/S
Sgt. Rettenberger"
"Aaron…. Today I sat at work and that firefight just played over and over and over again. For some reason, it just wouldn't stop. I broke it down from every different way. Slow motion as it played through my head. Why didn’t I go into that house next door? Would it have helped to get you out of there quicker? Aaron, it hurts so bad to think that you won’t be home for another Christmas. Know that if there were a way, I’d have traded places with you. I guess it is true: only the dead see the end of war. I only hope you know how much good has come from all of this. When we got the word to pull out, I was so p----- because at the time I thought that our losses were in vain, but come to find out, I was wrong. So many good things have come from our blood, sweat and tears. I love and miss you man.
My heart and love goes out to all your family this holiday season.
R/S
Sgt. Justin Rettenberger"
"Dearest Sweet Sgt. Rett,
Replay it if you must honey, and I know you must. But believe me when I say that you are not in control of life and death. Only God is. So much good has come from this, and as bad as I'd like to have him here with me this Christmas … to have that Christmas Eve dance with the most handsome man in this world, I believe Sergeant Major Skiles when he said, "If Aaron had it to do all over again, he’d do it the same." Like you would trade places with my son, he would want you to be happy and go in peace. The peace within.
I love you.
De’on”
"Hey Babe—
Well, it won't be Feb 29 for a couple of years, but today is the last day of Feb. As you wrote in 2004: "last day in U.S.
Aaron, we all miss you so much. But I do feel your presence. Just a moment ago, I listened to a daily devotional. Duke Duvall used this passage from Hebrews 12:1. ‘Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.’
Gary Kirksey used that same passage at Uncle Doug's funeral a few weeks ago. Gary said that when he was a less mature pastor that he didn't really believe so much that those who'd gone to heaven were with us here, as far as walking next to us, but now he did believe that and had for a while. He told how his son, Jamie, felt you on one side and his grandfather, a WWII vet, on his other side during a tough mission in Iraq a few months ago.
I feel you with me right now. And as much as I can, I do not want to disappoint that great cloud of witnesses. You all mean so much to me and I'm so thankful that God gives us that.
I love you. And I love so many others there with you now. And I thank God for His promise that I will be there with you when I am through here.
You are blessed. Your name means Exalted. And you are.
Thank you, son, for loving us so much before and for loving and praying for us now.
Thank you, Father God, for rescuing my son and taking him home with you. I know You know best. And I trust You and Your will for our lives down here. Be with each of us. Be with our troops. Be with our leaders. Strengthen our tired and weak bodies and minds so that like Aaron, we too are fit to fulfill Your heavenly purpose for each of us. It's in Jesus' name that I pray for each family member and each friend, each Marine that mourns this loss for us, this gain for eternity. AMEN
Mom”
“I've been to this site many times but haven't written in awhile. In a few minutes, it will be the 26th and two years since the last time I remember talking to you, Aaron. I know I've said this more times than I can count and I know you know we did everything we could. Sometimes I think that I could have done more, but then I think about your last words to me, Aaron. You said, ‘Don’t worry about me just keep shooting!’ And still to this day, I’m still in the fight.
I miss you brother. I thought I’d be sad when this day came around, but I know you wouldn't want that, so we'll just train harder today. With all my love man, Semper Fi,
Sgt. Rett”
"I'm not sure where to start ... so many thoughts. There are many men who will sit around a Christmas tree and be thankful for the greatest gift of all, something never wrapped and no amount of money could ever equal its value. Thank you for giving me the gift of life, not only from me, but also from everyone that was on that rooftop and in that house that day. Semper Fi brother and Merry Christmas and we shall never forget you. And to De'on: I wish there was something I could do or say to tell you how much your son and my brother will always mean to me. I hope you and your family have a safe and happy holiday. God Bless.
R/S
Sgt. Rett
Always a 2/1 Echo Marine at heart
P.S. And thank you to all of you who keep me in your prayers and worry about me. I truly don’t have the words to express how much it means to me."
"IN MY DREAMS TONIGHT IT FELT LIKE YOU WERE THERE WITH ME. IT’S ALWAYS GOOD TO SEE YOU BROTHER.
SEMPER FI
R/S"
….I love you, Aaron, and I miss you so much. My heart longs to be there with you and I become so impatient with the process of living here without you, but I know I must until I'm through here. Sometimes I think, maybe if I hurry....
But it's not in my hands and not up to me. And as much as is heavenly possible, I must seek the joy of life here on this earth. It's hard and it doesn't happen until we step out of ourselves and into the needs and lives of others.
We all miss you desperately, Aaron.
And Sgt. Rett, we never quit loving and thinking and praying for you and the others. You are all so very, very important to us. Thank you for sharing here, with Aaron and us. It means so much.
Semper Fi
Aaron's Mom"
“I love you, De’on, You’re something special to me and I have to admire you for all you have done since Aaron has been gone. Aaron will never be forgotten as long as you have a breath in you. He touched so many lives while he was on this earth. I will remember him with love and all the memories that I have of him and Jerrod.
It’s hard to believe that my baby will be a daddy. He has grown to be a remarkable young man. Aaron is watching over his best friend and I know that he is smiling up in heaven, wishing Jerrod the best.
Sgt Rett, thank you from the bottom of my heart for carrying Aaron and staying with him. You are a remarkable man. God Bless you. Please be safe. From Aaron's second Mom that loved him like her own; he was one of mine too. And De’on, thank you for sharing him with me.
Donna of Lovington, NM"
"4/5/08
I love you too, Donna. I was more than happy to share Aaron with you and I will be Nomi to your granddaughter.
Thirty-five years ago on April 2 is when we lost Shane. We never forget our babies, and too, we are very thankful for the new ones in our lives.
I had the greatest pleasure to meet Major Zembiec's parents last night. They are wonderful people with hearts full of admiration for our Marines. I saw pictures of their granddaughter, Fallyn Justice, who has her daddy's eyes, and from what I hear, his independent spirit. It was a joy to meet them and they are strong people.
Much love to all.
De'on"
"April 26th I remember."
"4 years ago to the hour we set out on patrol. All I can say is I remember and thank you. I will see you in time, brother. April the 26th we shall never forget:
It was an early morning four years ago. The air was as sticky as the back of a yellow post-it-note. I still think about looking down from the rooftop and seeing all of 2nd platoon formed up and taking off that early morning in Fallujah. It was so calm that morning. How quickly things changed and in an instant. As a former CO of mine said, ‘We fought like lions!’ Aaron, you are a true example of that statement. Still to this day, I think about that day and I used to try to figure out what I could have done different, but now, instead, I just think about you and how brave you were. Your sacrifice saved the lives of many of our brothers. There can never be enough thanks said for your actions and I will continue to tell your story to inspire the youth and let them know that in this world of troubled times; there are real heroes like you brother, who will always be there to keep the wolf at bay. SEMPER FI BROTHER, I LOVE AND MISS YOU.
R/S Sgt. Rettenberger
P.S. I will never stop shooting"
After I asked the permission of Aaron’s Marine Brothers to copy some of their messages, I thought better of it. I e-mailed Sergeant Rett and told him I understood that my request wasn’t fair. I understood he needed a safe place to go and write.
He responded.
Always good to hear from you De’on. When I said I was caught off guard about my postings, I was more shaken about the fact that you found any of my postings to be good enough to be published in a book. Whenever I post anything, I just speak what my heart feels. My mood swings come and go. There are days a song or a smell triggers something and the message board is a place for me to release my feelings. I always feel so much better after I post a message or just read all the postings. It refreshes me like a morning shower after a good night’s sleep. The words help me heal and if you think there is anything that I have posted that you think would help the book or help others, I would truly be honored if you used any of my words, and if not, it makes me feel pretty good that something that I wrote was considered to be put into a book. I just want to make sure that you know at no time did I feel uneasy or anything.
Well, goodnight, I have PFT to run in 7 hours.
Semper Fi,
Sgt Rett
And I replied.
Sgt Rett, your words are some of the most beautiful chords that have ever struck my mind and my heart.
And Doc, your words, my son’s “word”—they were a gift from heaven. Your words, Magana’s words, footage and stories carried through Loomis—they’re as close as I’ll ever get. For a time. All the words here, those many left on the board, they’re engraved on my heart.
Thank you all for your part in my healing. I thank God for the healing I know takes place in each of your once beaten, beating heart.
To this day, I remain indebted for another message posted on Aaron’s board. I treasure the time spent with this senior NCO at the Evening Parade on May 19, 2006. I hold that time and that coin in a special scrapbook. And, I wish I had a picture of the Marine mascot who attended the reception, but then, Isaac would be jealous and Hennessy—depressed.
Now, September 25, 2008, I once again read these messages. One more time, I cry. No doubt, I’ll read and cry throughout my life. Sometimes I like to cry, so that’s okay.
Now a Sergeant Major, John Ploskonka currently serves in Iraq
One more Marine speaks.
"To everyone, especially Aaron:
This is the first time I have been on this site. I am very glad to have found it after a long reading session and a lot of tears. Don't dare tell anyone! I will deny it. Just kidding. I have shed many tears for you, Aaron. So now, I get to babble as usual.
This is the first time I have been on this site. I am very glad to have found it after a long reading session and a lot of tears. Don't dare tell anyone! I will deny it. Just kidding. I have shed many tears for you, Aaron. So now, I get to babble as usual.
I was remembering a young PFC Austin back in 2002 checking into Echo Company. As I recall a loud mouth and no bearing …just the observation of an old Gunny. I soon learned that behind that was a Marine with an infectious spirit and an appetite for honor, courage and commitment. Oh, and the infectious smile made me lose my bearing a couple times too! Of course, you still ‘owe me for that’—Aaron will know what that means.
I also recall many of my walks up and down the catwalks of the barracks that Sgt Rettenberger spoke of on the second floor. I made those walks after liberty call to check on the Marines. Of course, Austin and Koci would be drinking their "Power Shakes" before heading to the gym to get their lift on. The motivation and enthusiasm that exuded from that one room (this will blow your mind … I remember it well as room 211) inspired even me to give more. Thanks very much to both of you!!! SNCO's do not hang out with junior Marines and we probably do not let them know enough just how great they truly are, but Echo Company has ranked very high in my ‘best company I was in’ stories. That is because of Marines like Aaron.
So, on those walks I would stop and chat and learn more from them than they would learn from me. Even though it is supposed to be the other way around. I also remember during many gun drills and field evolutions that Aaron never slacked off. It did not matter the temperature, day of week, number of times or the attitude of the Marines around him, he always smiled and gave an oorah and went about doing it the Marine way. At this point, I will mention I miss you very much Aaron. So during OIF I knew that we were in good hands. I remember trooping the line during a rainstorm (mom, close your ears) passing out cigarettes to the young Marines that ran out of them due to lack of inbound mail. Aaron smiled and said something about doing some pushups for more smokes. Let me say, he did many pushups. Many of them. Then as I walked away, he yelled out ‘Got cake?’ This was in reference to cake that I also passed out during my trooping the line. This soon became the communication between Aaron and me. It went on so much that it became a mutual challenge and password between us.
I then remember receiving a wound while we were in our defensive position up north, and when I returned to the Company from medical, Austin
So then, it was time to go to OIF II. My unit left just before 2/1, but I did get the chance to see Echo in Kuwait
I am very, very happy that I had the chance to see them before heading north. The Company had to go to a class in the tent and I had to get back to my unit in the convoy staging area. So why am I going on and on about this? Well, as I walked away while the company went into the tent, I looked at the ground with a very heavy heart listening to the crunch of sand and pebbles under my feet. Then I heard Austin
I turned around and saw his smile from ear to ear and he yelled, ‘Got cake?’ I said I wish I did, and told him to be safe. Of course, the rest is in all the messages below. I have been back to Camp Pendleton a few times and one of the last times, I got to see Harrell at Camp Margerita
Mom …you raised a wonderful human being and should be very proud of the man that he became. I am a better person for having known him!
Best of luck to all and
SEMPER FI
‘Cheese and Rice’
‘DA FIRST SERGEANT’
1stSgt John P. Ploskonka, AKA ‘DA GUNNY’ of Bravo Co. Mar Bks Wash
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