thedrifter
08-18-07, 06:51 AM
Living fellowship honors the fallen
By Katie Kerwin McCrimmon, Rocky Mountain News
August 18, 2007
COLORADO SPRINGS - As the Iraq war claimed more Colorado soldiers this week, families of the slain gathered Friday for a somber ceremony honoring war heroes from around the country.
"This is not a memorial service where we are saying goodbye to the dead,'' said Lt. Col. Steve Beck, who organized the third annual Remembering the Brave Ceremony at the Anglers Hilton.
"This is a service to remember. We are saying that we are not going to forget you," Beck said.
Flags from every state in the country lined a corridor that led to a "Hallway of Heroes," where men and women from every military branch were honored.
Military leaders presented families with the medals that each warrior had earned.They exchanged stories and hugs, gaining strength from each other as they remembered loved ones. The gathering did not offer closure. It created new relationships, new hope, a safe place for sorrow.
For family members, the gathering was painful and cathartic. "I'm in a club that nobody wants to be in, but I don't want to be in that club by myself,'' said Kyle Anderson, of Windsor, whose brother, Christopher "Doc" Anderson died in Iraq in December. "Everybody knows how bad you hurt. They hurt the same. The only difference between the families is how long your child has been gone.''
Betty Welke, of Rapid City, S.D., lost her son Joseph to the war in 2004. She felt all families deserved a ceremony of remembrance and has helped organize the yearly events.
"They all deserve this,'' Welke said. "Everyone's son is special."
Marine Sgt. Nicholas R. Walsh
Four-year-old Triston Walsh was riding his new red bike when he tilted his head skyward and said, "Look at me, Daddy!"
Triston's mom says he sometimes remembers that his daddy, Marine Sgt. Nicholas R. Walsh, is in heaven. Walsh, 26, died in Iraq in May at the hands of a sniper.
Other times, Triston's young brain does what all the adults wish they could do: erase reality.
"Sometimes, he still thinks he's coming home," said Walsh's widow, 28-year-old Julie Walsh. "The other day, he said to me, 'Mom, do you know where Daddy works? We need to go pick him up from work and then we can come home and play trains.' "
On Friday, Julie Walsh swore that for just one day, she would not cry. But as she spoke with her late husband's parents and Marine brothers at a ceremony honoring fallen war heroes and their families, the tears kept falling.
Marine Master Sgt. Larry "Buck" Doyle got shot in the arm trying to save Walsh. The two had been close friends for four years. On Friday, Doyle bent down on his knee and presented a posthumous Commendation Medal with Valor to Julie, of California, and his parents, Maggie and Jerry Walsh, of Fort Collins.
The "Remembering the Brave" ceremony brought family members and Marines together in the mountains west of Colorado Springs to share photos and memories. It took a little while to break the ice.
"What do you say to a guy who tried to save your son's life?" Maggie Walsh said.
Before long, Doyle felt like another son. He admitted he sometimes felt survivor's guilt.
"At first, I did," Doyle said, tears breaking the veteran warrior's facade.
"I'm glad you made it," Maggie Walsh said, noting that Doyle, 37, has a wife and two girls. "They're glad you made it."
He nodded as emotion choked his words.
"It's hard," he said finally.
The buddies were stranded with a broken-down vehicle in Fallujah, Iraq. Help didn't arrive for a long time, so the men were worried that snipers would have them in their sights. As help arrived, the men from the rescue truck spilled out of their wrecker. Walsh jumped out and tried to get them back to safety. A sniper hit him.
"Dammit, I'm hit," Walsh said to his buddy. Doyle grabbed him and pulled him to the truck. Two other buddies worked on Walsh as Doyle was loaded into another truck.
Jerry Walsh said he didn't need a medal to know his son was special. A former border patrol and immigration agent, Walsh was a single parent to Nick for four years until he married Maggie when Nick was 7. Jerry Walsh treasured every minute with Nick, who loved swimming, football and any game outdoors.
"With or without this medal, he's always been a hero to me," Jerry Walsh said. "We're not fighting on the streets here because they are fighting on the streets there."
Julie Walsh sees her husband in her boys every day. She aches that 7-month-old Tanner will never know his dad. But both boys look and act just like their dad.
The other day, Julie Walsh tried on a dress and said it made her look fat. "No you don't, Mom," Triston said, adding, just like his dad: "You look beautiful, my dear."
Lance Cpl. Erik Heldt
Taylor Mae Heldt released a golden balloon into the air and watched it drift over the mountains, hoping it would reach the address she had made up: 2125 S. Heaven Lane.
The message that went with the balloon was simple: "I love you, Daddy. I wish I could see you again."
Taylor, 10, of Washington, Mo., longs for the dad she'll never see.
But, finally, this child will have the most precious memento the military bestows on loved ones of fallen warriors. Friday night, Marines bowed over Taylor, gave her a flag and embraced the parentless girl with her military family.
Lt. Col. Steve Beck said that Taylor should have gotten a flag in honor of her dad long ago. Lance Cpl. Erik Heldt died June 16, 2005, in Iraq when his vehicle was hit by an improvised explosive device near Ramadi. Taylor attended the funeral, but flags went only to her dad's wife and his mother.
Beck wanted to right that wrong.
"We salute the flag. We serve under it and some come home beneath it. It should be presented with the utmost honor and respect."
Taylor received the flag with every bit of pomp and circumstance the military could muster. Now, she'll keep it safe.
"I'm going to hang it on the wall," she said, then thought for a minute and changed her mind. "I might put it in the basement in case there's a tornado. I want it to be a memory forever. I'll show it to my kids someday and say, 'This is something I got because your grandpa died.' "
Taylor's parents had her when they were in high school. She had only recently met her dad before he died, crushing her dream that she might someday live with him and be a big sister to babies he and his wife might have.
"I don't think he was ready to be a dad," Taylor said. "They were scared to meet me," she said of Heldt and his wife.
Her mom has given up rights to Taylor and is moving away from Missouri.
"She's not ready for a kid either, so I live with my Nana and my dog."
Amid all her losses, Taylor will treasure the flag.
"It's a priceless piece," said her grandmother, Gail Kriete, who fought to get Taylor more than the tiny mementoes she previously had of her dad: a handful of shell casings from his funeral and a box of crayons he gave her for Christmas.
Said Kriete of the flag: "It will be a piece of art to her, a story she can always tell."
Navy Hospital Corpsman Christopher Anderson
The Marine lance corporal strolled into the hotel restaurant and stripped off his shirt.
Douglas Cianchetta had something important to show Christopher "Doc" Anderson's family and their Marine buddies.
A tattoo covered his shoulder and the top of his arm. "Doc Andy" it read, with a helmet and a gun tied together with a banner that symbolized the ultimate message for warriors: stay safe.
"This is my brother," Kyle Anderson said, tapping Cianchetta's arm warmly. He meant that in two ways. The tattoo represents his brother. And all the Marines who fought with him are his new brothers.
His new brothers are Cianchetta and all the other men who tried to save the Longmont Marine's life.
Navy Hospital Corpsman Christopher Anderson died in a mortar attack near Ramadi on Dec. 4.
Cianchetta was among those who tried to save him.
"Doug was with him. He and another Marine were giving him CPR in the Humvee," said Anderson's mother, Debra Anderson. "He took it real hard."
Cianchetta got the tattoo in January. Other buddies plan to follow suit. Their dedication to "Doc" means the world to Anderson's family.
"Christopher will be there forever," Debra Anderson said. "When Doug's a grandpa, his grandchildren will ask him, 'Who's Doc Andy?' I just don't want him forgotten."
Anderson's father, Rick Anderson, a retired Navy SEAL, said the ceremony that brought family of fallen heroes together with active-duty military troops felt like a family reunion.
He never imagined he would be part of this fraternity. His son had seemed "bulletproof."
Just weeks before Christopher Anderson died, a mortar blew up near him. He was close enough to be in the kill zone.
"It blew him off his feet. He got bruised up and shook up. But he was fine," Rick Anderson said.
Just a short time later, the Marines showed up at his door and Rick Anderson had to make the dreaded phone call to his surviving son, Kyle. He called him three times at work until he picked up.
"I have a problem and I need your help. You need to come home now."
Kyle knew his dad never needed help with anything. He guessed the news.
"Dad, is my brother alive or not?" he asked his dad.
There was an interminable pause.
"No," Rick Anderson finally said.
Now the family is enduring a journey full of painful roadblocks. Each obstacle they pass makes them stronger. Rick Anderson finds blessings in the pain. He has loved getting to know his son's Marine buddies.
"He was with people who loved him."
Kyle, 22, has been volunteering with the American Military Family Organization to make sure that Iraq war veterans get a proper welcome home. He donned a stylish tuxedo and said it was a privilege to be a part of the Remembering the Brave ceremony.
"My brother gave his life so I would have a better life," Kyle Anderson said. "It's an honor for me to know him, to be his brother and to be where he is being honored," he said. "The families need this stuff."
Ellie
By Katie Kerwin McCrimmon, Rocky Mountain News
August 18, 2007
COLORADO SPRINGS - As the Iraq war claimed more Colorado soldiers this week, families of the slain gathered Friday for a somber ceremony honoring war heroes from around the country.
"This is not a memorial service where we are saying goodbye to the dead,'' said Lt. Col. Steve Beck, who organized the third annual Remembering the Brave Ceremony at the Anglers Hilton.
"This is a service to remember. We are saying that we are not going to forget you," Beck said.
Flags from every state in the country lined a corridor that led to a "Hallway of Heroes," where men and women from every military branch were honored.
Military leaders presented families with the medals that each warrior had earned.They exchanged stories and hugs, gaining strength from each other as they remembered loved ones. The gathering did not offer closure. It created new relationships, new hope, a safe place for sorrow.
For family members, the gathering was painful and cathartic. "I'm in a club that nobody wants to be in, but I don't want to be in that club by myself,'' said Kyle Anderson, of Windsor, whose brother, Christopher "Doc" Anderson died in Iraq in December. "Everybody knows how bad you hurt. They hurt the same. The only difference between the families is how long your child has been gone.''
Betty Welke, of Rapid City, S.D., lost her son Joseph to the war in 2004. She felt all families deserved a ceremony of remembrance and has helped organize the yearly events.
"They all deserve this,'' Welke said. "Everyone's son is special."
Marine Sgt. Nicholas R. Walsh
Four-year-old Triston Walsh was riding his new red bike when he tilted his head skyward and said, "Look at me, Daddy!"
Triston's mom says he sometimes remembers that his daddy, Marine Sgt. Nicholas R. Walsh, is in heaven. Walsh, 26, died in Iraq in May at the hands of a sniper.
Other times, Triston's young brain does what all the adults wish they could do: erase reality.
"Sometimes, he still thinks he's coming home," said Walsh's widow, 28-year-old Julie Walsh. "The other day, he said to me, 'Mom, do you know where Daddy works? We need to go pick him up from work and then we can come home and play trains.' "
On Friday, Julie Walsh swore that for just one day, she would not cry. But as she spoke with her late husband's parents and Marine brothers at a ceremony honoring fallen war heroes and their families, the tears kept falling.
Marine Master Sgt. Larry "Buck" Doyle got shot in the arm trying to save Walsh. The two had been close friends for four years. On Friday, Doyle bent down on his knee and presented a posthumous Commendation Medal with Valor to Julie, of California, and his parents, Maggie and Jerry Walsh, of Fort Collins.
The "Remembering the Brave" ceremony brought family members and Marines together in the mountains west of Colorado Springs to share photos and memories. It took a little while to break the ice.
"What do you say to a guy who tried to save your son's life?" Maggie Walsh said.
Before long, Doyle felt like another son. He admitted he sometimes felt survivor's guilt.
"At first, I did," Doyle said, tears breaking the veteran warrior's facade.
"I'm glad you made it," Maggie Walsh said, noting that Doyle, 37, has a wife and two girls. "They're glad you made it."
He nodded as emotion choked his words.
"It's hard," he said finally.
The buddies were stranded with a broken-down vehicle in Fallujah, Iraq. Help didn't arrive for a long time, so the men were worried that snipers would have them in their sights. As help arrived, the men from the rescue truck spilled out of their wrecker. Walsh jumped out and tried to get them back to safety. A sniper hit him.
"Dammit, I'm hit," Walsh said to his buddy. Doyle grabbed him and pulled him to the truck. Two other buddies worked on Walsh as Doyle was loaded into another truck.
Jerry Walsh said he didn't need a medal to know his son was special. A former border patrol and immigration agent, Walsh was a single parent to Nick for four years until he married Maggie when Nick was 7. Jerry Walsh treasured every minute with Nick, who loved swimming, football and any game outdoors.
"With or without this medal, he's always been a hero to me," Jerry Walsh said. "We're not fighting on the streets here because they are fighting on the streets there."
Julie Walsh sees her husband in her boys every day. She aches that 7-month-old Tanner will never know his dad. But both boys look and act just like their dad.
The other day, Julie Walsh tried on a dress and said it made her look fat. "No you don't, Mom," Triston said, adding, just like his dad: "You look beautiful, my dear."
Lance Cpl. Erik Heldt
Taylor Mae Heldt released a golden balloon into the air and watched it drift over the mountains, hoping it would reach the address she had made up: 2125 S. Heaven Lane.
The message that went with the balloon was simple: "I love you, Daddy. I wish I could see you again."
Taylor, 10, of Washington, Mo., longs for the dad she'll never see.
But, finally, this child will have the most precious memento the military bestows on loved ones of fallen warriors. Friday night, Marines bowed over Taylor, gave her a flag and embraced the parentless girl with her military family.
Lt. Col. Steve Beck said that Taylor should have gotten a flag in honor of her dad long ago. Lance Cpl. Erik Heldt died June 16, 2005, in Iraq when his vehicle was hit by an improvised explosive device near Ramadi. Taylor attended the funeral, but flags went only to her dad's wife and his mother.
Beck wanted to right that wrong.
"We salute the flag. We serve under it and some come home beneath it. It should be presented with the utmost honor and respect."
Taylor received the flag with every bit of pomp and circumstance the military could muster. Now, she'll keep it safe.
"I'm going to hang it on the wall," she said, then thought for a minute and changed her mind. "I might put it in the basement in case there's a tornado. I want it to be a memory forever. I'll show it to my kids someday and say, 'This is something I got because your grandpa died.' "
Taylor's parents had her when they were in high school. She had only recently met her dad before he died, crushing her dream that she might someday live with him and be a big sister to babies he and his wife might have.
"I don't think he was ready to be a dad," Taylor said. "They were scared to meet me," she said of Heldt and his wife.
Her mom has given up rights to Taylor and is moving away from Missouri.
"She's not ready for a kid either, so I live with my Nana and my dog."
Amid all her losses, Taylor will treasure the flag.
"It's a priceless piece," said her grandmother, Gail Kriete, who fought to get Taylor more than the tiny mementoes she previously had of her dad: a handful of shell casings from his funeral and a box of crayons he gave her for Christmas.
Said Kriete of the flag: "It will be a piece of art to her, a story she can always tell."
Navy Hospital Corpsman Christopher Anderson
The Marine lance corporal strolled into the hotel restaurant and stripped off his shirt.
Douglas Cianchetta had something important to show Christopher "Doc" Anderson's family and their Marine buddies.
A tattoo covered his shoulder and the top of his arm. "Doc Andy" it read, with a helmet and a gun tied together with a banner that symbolized the ultimate message for warriors: stay safe.
"This is my brother," Kyle Anderson said, tapping Cianchetta's arm warmly. He meant that in two ways. The tattoo represents his brother. And all the Marines who fought with him are his new brothers.
His new brothers are Cianchetta and all the other men who tried to save the Longmont Marine's life.
Navy Hospital Corpsman Christopher Anderson died in a mortar attack near Ramadi on Dec. 4.
Cianchetta was among those who tried to save him.
"Doug was with him. He and another Marine were giving him CPR in the Humvee," said Anderson's mother, Debra Anderson. "He took it real hard."
Cianchetta got the tattoo in January. Other buddies plan to follow suit. Their dedication to "Doc" means the world to Anderson's family.
"Christopher will be there forever," Debra Anderson said. "When Doug's a grandpa, his grandchildren will ask him, 'Who's Doc Andy?' I just don't want him forgotten."
Anderson's father, Rick Anderson, a retired Navy SEAL, said the ceremony that brought family of fallen heroes together with active-duty military troops felt like a family reunion.
He never imagined he would be part of this fraternity. His son had seemed "bulletproof."
Just weeks before Christopher Anderson died, a mortar blew up near him. He was close enough to be in the kill zone.
"It blew him off his feet. He got bruised up and shook up. But he was fine," Rick Anderson said.
Just a short time later, the Marines showed up at his door and Rick Anderson had to make the dreaded phone call to his surviving son, Kyle. He called him three times at work until he picked up.
"I have a problem and I need your help. You need to come home now."
Kyle knew his dad never needed help with anything. He guessed the news.
"Dad, is my brother alive or not?" he asked his dad.
There was an interminable pause.
"No," Rick Anderson finally said.
Now the family is enduring a journey full of painful roadblocks. Each obstacle they pass makes them stronger. Rick Anderson finds blessings in the pain. He has loved getting to know his son's Marine buddies.
"He was with people who loved him."
Kyle, 22, has been volunteering with the American Military Family Organization to make sure that Iraq war veterans get a proper welcome home. He donned a stylish tuxedo and said it was a privilege to be a part of the Remembering the Brave ceremony.
"My brother gave his life so I would have a better life," Kyle Anderson said. "It's an honor for me to know him, to be his brother and to be where he is being honored," he said. "The families need this stuff."
Ellie