thedrifter
04-27-08, 07:11 AM
Unflinching in the face of pain
By MARTIN KIDSTON - Independent Record - 04/27/08
Since the beginning of the war in Iraq, 24 soldiers, Marines and sailors from Montana have been killed in battle and at least three others have died for different reasons, two of which remain under investigation by the Department of Defense.
Over the past five years, I've covered three war-related funerals and sat for interviews with five different families that have lost a son to the conflict. They are the hardest stories to write, and each family deals with its loss in unique ways.
There is something to be learned from others during moments of tragedy and sorrow. Mine is a voyeuristic occupation - a job that brings me close then pulls me away, on to the next story, whatever it may be.
The men and women of the Montana National Guard Honor Guard, however, live and work in death and tragedy. They are confronted by it daily, forced by their occupation to peer into the eyes of bereaving family members, listen to the solemn tune of taps and stand firm beside the grave in the wake of honorary gunfire.
"I try to limit the number of ceremonies they perform," Denny Lenoir, who coordinates the honor guard, told me last week. "I don't want them to become desensitized to it. I want them to feel it in their heart. The family picks up on that sincerity."
As a Marine in the first Gulf War, the prospect of dying on the battlefield was never far from my thoughts. While it was a risk we accepted and understood, some dealt with it better than others.
It's always been this way, I suppose. A few years ago, Joe Upshaw, a distinguished veteran of World War II whose candid memories of fighting the Japanese in the jungles of New Guinea helped me write my book about the Montana experience in "From Poplar to Papua," once told me that the hardest part of war is not the experience of the soldier in battle, but the worries of the family members back home.
"We knew where we were every day," Upshaw told me. "But those moms and dads and wives back home, they had to go to bed every night wondering and worrying where we were and if we were OK."
During my time away from home in the Persian Gulf, I never had to deal with my mother's worries. We received letters from home and felt 10 feet tall, bolstered by the support coming from the home front.
But members of the Honor Guard must face the families in their most difficult moments. A sort of kinship is formed as a result. I've seen several families who lost sons early in the war attend the funerals of other families who, more recently, found themselves facing a similar loss.
Out at the Montana State Veterans Cemetery at Fort Harrison, as many as 500 veterans and their spouses have been interred since the current war began in 2003. Some are from the war in Iraq, some from the Persian Gulf. Some fought in Vietnam, Korea and World War II.
The grounds are filling up steadily and the Honor Guard, more than anyone else, is nearly always present to set these veterans on their eternal journey.
"We're getting a lot of young kids in here that are going," Nick Newton, the cemetery's keeper, told me last week before a female World War II veteran was interred. "We've had six or eight burials from the current war. We've got some Desert Storm veterans and a lot more from Vietnam are coming in."
Newton continued: "Just this year, I've had 34 full-sized burials and 50 cremations. We average about 165 funerals a year. I suppose that we'll surpass that this year."
One of the honor guard's members, Jesse Edinger, performed ceremony No. 78 last week, becoming the only member of the Montana team to give honors to so many vets in such a short time.
That's 78 weeping families he's had to face. That's 78 men and women who lived unique lives and helped make the nation what it is today.
There will always be wars and death and sacrifice. Hopefully, too, there will always be men and women like Edinger and those he works with. They stare unflinching in the face of sorrow, raise their steady white gloves, and salute those who, during good times and bad, gave their country their all.
Reporter Martin Kidston: 447-4086 or mkidston@helenair.com
Ellie
By MARTIN KIDSTON - Independent Record - 04/27/08
Since the beginning of the war in Iraq, 24 soldiers, Marines and sailors from Montana have been killed in battle and at least three others have died for different reasons, two of which remain under investigation by the Department of Defense.
Over the past five years, I've covered three war-related funerals and sat for interviews with five different families that have lost a son to the conflict. They are the hardest stories to write, and each family deals with its loss in unique ways.
There is something to be learned from others during moments of tragedy and sorrow. Mine is a voyeuristic occupation - a job that brings me close then pulls me away, on to the next story, whatever it may be.
The men and women of the Montana National Guard Honor Guard, however, live and work in death and tragedy. They are confronted by it daily, forced by their occupation to peer into the eyes of bereaving family members, listen to the solemn tune of taps and stand firm beside the grave in the wake of honorary gunfire.
"I try to limit the number of ceremonies they perform," Denny Lenoir, who coordinates the honor guard, told me last week. "I don't want them to become desensitized to it. I want them to feel it in their heart. The family picks up on that sincerity."
As a Marine in the first Gulf War, the prospect of dying on the battlefield was never far from my thoughts. While it was a risk we accepted and understood, some dealt with it better than others.
It's always been this way, I suppose. A few years ago, Joe Upshaw, a distinguished veteran of World War II whose candid memories of fighting the Japanese in the jungles of New Guinea helped me write my book about the Montana experience in "From Poplar to Papua," once told me that the hardest part of war is not the experience of the soldier in battle, but the worries of the family members back home.
"We knew where we were every day," Upshaw told me. "But those moms and dads and wives back home, they had to go to bed every night wondering and worrying where we were and if we were OK."
During my time away from home in the Persian Gulf, I never had to deal with my mother's worries. We received letters from home and felt 10 feet tall, bolstered by the support coming from the home front.
But members of the Honor Guard must face the families in their most difficult moments. A sort of kinship is formed as a result. I've seen several families who lost sons early in the war attend the funerals of other families who, more recently, found themselves facing a similar loss.
Out at the Montana State Veterans Cemetery at Fort Harrison, as many as 500 veterans and their spouses have been interred since the current war began in 2003. Some are from the war in Iraq, some from the Persian Gulf. Some fought in Vietnam, Korea and World War II.
The grounds are filling up steadily and the Honor Guard, more than anyone else, is nearly always present to set these veterans on their eternal journey.
"We're getting a lot of young kids in here that are going," Nick Newton, the cemetery's keeper, told me last week before a female World War II veteran was interred. "We've had six or eight burials from the current war. We've got some Desert Storm veterans and a lot more from Vietnam are coming in."
Newton continued: "Just this year, I've had 34 full-sized burials and 50 cremations. We average about 165 funerals a year. I suppose that we'll surpass that this year."
One of the honor guard's members, Jesse Edinger, performed ceremony No. 78 last week, becoming the only member of the Montana team to give honors to so many vets in such a short time.
That's 78 weeping families he's had to face. That's 78 men and women who lived unique lives and helped make the nation what it is today.
There will always be wars and death and sacrifice. Hopefully, too, there will always be men and women like Edinger and those he works with. They stare unflinching in the face of sorrow, raise their steady white gloves, and salute those who, during good times and bad, gave their country their all.
Reporter Martin Kidston: 447-4086 or mkidston@helenair.com
Ellie