thedrifter
05-24-09, 08:21 AM
Brother's death propels Mariko Willis into Marine Corps
by Gabrielle Russon | Kalamazoo Gazette
Sunday May 24, 2009, 7:00 AM
PORTAGE -- Mariko Willis refused to cry.
She looked straight ahead, stone-faced.
Even when night offered a temporary escape from the regimented life of boot camp, she hid the pain so no one would call her weak.
She kept everything inside, how five months earlier she had lost Christopher Willis, who was more like a best friend than an older brother. Christopher, a 23-year-old Marine, had just returned home in 2003 from serving in Iraq when he died in a car accident.
"It was hell for me," said Mariko, a 2002 Paw Paw High School graduate, as she recalled her military training.
"I never really got to deal with his death. I went straight into boot camp where you had no feelings. You had no emotions. They're trying to train you to be a killer."
But losing Christopher had been her inspiration to join the U.S. Marine Corps and pushed her through boot camp.
"She's dedicated to honoring the promise she made to her dead brother," said another brother, Shaun Willis. "She was picking up where he left off in the service of our country."
Six years after his death, Mariko is still reminded of Christopher every time she puts on her uniform and goes to work as a career-retention specialist for Fort Custer, in Augusta.
About twice a month, Mariko, 24, puts flowers on Christopher's grave in the Fort Custer National Cemetery, just as many others will do Monday to remember their loved ones on Memorial Day.
Best friends
Even though Christopher was the older brother by five years, his ideas usually had a childlike exuberance to them -- such as lighting fireworks inside the house.
He would break-dance at family gatherings, anything to make Mariko laugh.
"He was one of the most outgoing people I'd ever met. He had no shame," she said. "He was the life of the party."
And the two were close.
They were home-schooled together for years.
Christopher built Mariko a tree house and was a chaperone at her high school prom.
"They just really knew each other by virtue of always being together when they were kids," Shaun Willis said.
Sometimes, the two talked about their future plans and where they would live someday.
Inspired by his two uncles who had served in the military, Christopher enlisted to be a Marine in 1999.
It was a departure from the immediate family's career path: Their father is Judge Frank Willis, of the Van Buren County Probate Court, and their siblings -- Shaun, Michael and Brooke Willis -- are lawyers or studying criminal justice in college.
Getting the call
Christopher never talked about how much the military meant to him, but Mariko could sense it.
He showed Mariko how to carefully polish his military shoes and fold his uniform sleeves just the right way.
Mariko helped him buzz his hair.
In 2003, he deployed to Iraq as part of a seven-member reconnaissance team for the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force.
"A man is not fit to live until he has found something to die for. I am fit to live," he wrote to his family in a letter that was later published in the Kalamazoo Gazette in 2003.
Christopher had found his passion, Mariko said.
Back home, his family dreaded "the call," which meant something horrible had happened. But it never came. Christopher, who wanted to become a teacher, returned safely to Michigan from his deployment in 2003.
"Finally it's over with. He's here, he's back, he's safe," Mariko said.
Then the phone rang.
Six weeks after coming home, Christopher died in a car accident on Interstate 94, near Battle Creek. His pickup truck crossed the median and struck a westbound car and a tractor-semitrailer.
Life goes on
Mariko remembered the blue uniforms at his burial and Christopher's comrades who lingered around the house for days after the funeral.
Almost immediately, she put her plans on hold to get a law degree.
At age 19, a year after graduating from high school, Mariko enlisted in the Marine Corps and left for boot camp in December 2003, five months after the car accident.
"I thought: 'I want to do what he was doing. I want to finish what he started,'" Mariko said.
But during boot camp, she felt the guilt of leaving her family as they mourned Christopher while she did.
"I felt at times I'd abandoned them," she said.
Her family members worried, too, and feared that Mariko would be deployed.
"We were nervous about it, certainly. ... What would happen if we lost Mariko, too?" Shaun Willis said. "That was sort of balanced by the thought she was honoring Christopher by doing it -- and life goes on."
In 2008, Mariko deployed for seven months to Djibouti, Africa, as part of Operation Enduring Freedom.
Her comrades noticed her leadership.
"Everybody really respected her and listened to her," said Lance Cpl. Darris Deal, who deployed with Mariko.
Remembering Christopher
Six years after the car accident, Mariko is now a sergeant and helps Marines re-enlist.
Her base is near Christopher's grave site, so she regularly visits the cemetery and puts yellow roses on his burial place during her lunch hour.
At her Portage apartment, Mariko has made a small shrine on her bookcase: a bullet that was fired during the 21-gun salute at her brother's funeral, a picture of Mariko and Christopher arm-in-arm at her prom, a dried-up yellow rose left from a recent visit to his grave.
Undoubtedly, she'll be reminded of her brother again Monday as Mariko walks with the color guard at the front of the Kalamazoo Memorial Day Parade.
"It's bittersweet. I think of my brother. But I also think of what I do and why I do it," she said. "You get a sense of pride."
Ellie
by Gabrielle Russon | Kalamazoo Gazette
Sunday May 24, 2009, 7:00 AM
PORTAGE -- Mariko Willis refused to cry.
She looked straight ahead, stone-faced.
Even when night offered a temporary escape from the regimented life of boot camp, she hid the pain so no one would call her weak.
She kept everything inside, how five months earlier she had lost Christopher Willis, who was more like a best friend than an older brother. Christopher, a 23-year-old Marine, had just returned home in 2003 from serving in Iraq when he died in a car accident.
"It was hell for me," said Mariko, a 2002 Paw Paw High School graduate, as she recalled her military training.
"I never really got to deal with his death. I went straight into boot camp where you had no feelings. You had no emotions. They're trying to train you to be a killer."
But losing Christopher had been her inspiration to join the U.S. Marine Corps and pushed her through boot camp.
"She's dedicated to honoring the promise she made to her dead brother," said another brother, Shaun Willis. "She was picking up where he left off in the service of our country."
Six years after his death, Mariko is still reminded of Christopher every time she puts on her uniform and goes to work as a career-retention specialist for Fort Custer, in Augusta.
About twice a month, Mariko, 24, puts flowers on Christopher's grave in the Fort Custer National Cemetery, just as many others will do Monday to remember their loved ones on Memorial Day.
Best friends
Even though Christopher was the older brother by five years, his ideas usually had a childlike exuberance to them -- such as lighting fireworks inside the house.
He would break-dance at family gatherings, anything to make Mariko laugh.
"He was one of the most outgoing people I'd ever met. He had no shame," she said. "He was the life of the party."
And the two were close.
They were home-schooled together for years.
Christopher built Mariko a tree house and was a chaperone at her high school prom.
"They just really knew each other by virtue of always being together when they were kids," Shaun Willis said.
Sometimes, the two talked about their future plans and where they would live someday.
Inspired by his two uncles who had served in the military, Christopher enlisted to be a Marine in 1999.
It was a departure from the immediate family's career path: Their father is Judge Frank Willis, of the Van Buren County Probate Court, and their siblings -- Shaun, Michael and Brooke Willis -- are lawyers or studying criminal justice in college.
Getting the call
Christopher never talked about how much the military meant to him, but Mariko could sense it.
He showed Mariko how to carefully polish his military shoes and fold his uniform sleeves just the right way.
Mariko helped him buzz his hair.
In 2003, he deployed to Iraq as part of a seven-member reconnaissance team for the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force.
"A man is not fit to live until he has found something to die for. I am fit to live," he wrote to his family in a letter that was later published in the Kalamazoo Gazette in 2003.
Christopher had found his passion, Mariko said.
Back home, his family dreaded "the call," which meant something horrible had happened. But it never came. Christopher, who wanted to become a teacher, returned safely to Michigan from his deployment in 2003.
"Finally it's over with. He's here, he's back, he's safe," Mariko said.
Then the phone rang.
Six weeks after coming home, Christopher died in a car accident on Interstate 94, near Battle Creek. His pickup truck crossed the median and struck a westbound car and a tractor-semitrailer.
Life goes on
Mariko remembered the blue uniforms at his burial and Christopher's comrades who lingered around the house for days after the funeral.
Almost immediately, she put her plans on hold to get a law degree.
At age 19, a year after graduating from high school, Mariko enlisted in the Marine Corps and left for boot camp in December 2003, five months after the car accident.
"I thought: 'I want to do what he was doing. I want to finish what he started,'" Mariko said.
But during boot camp, she felt the guilt of leaving her family as they mourned Christopher while she did.
"I felt at times I'd abandoned them," she said.
Her family members worried, too, and feared that Mariko would be deployed.
"We were nervous about it, certainly. ... What would happen if we lost Mariko, too?" Shaun Willis said. "That was sort of balanced by the thought she was honoring Christopher by doing it -- and life goes on."
In 2008, Mariko deployed for seven months to Djibouti, Africa, as part of Operation Enduring Freedom.
Her comrades noticed her leadership.
"Everybody really respected her and listened to her," said Lance Cpl. Darris Deal, who deployed with Mariko.
Remembering Christopher
Six years after the car accident, Mariko is now a sergeant and helps Marines re-enlist.
Her base is near Christopher's grave site, so she regularly visits the cemetery and puts yellow roses on his burial place during her lunch hour.
At her Portage apartment, Mariko has made a small shrine on her bookcase: a bullet that was fired during the 21-gun salute at her brother's funeral, a picture of Mariko and Christopher arm-in-arm at her prom, a dried-up yellow rose left from a recent visit to his grave.
Undoubtedly, she'll be reminded of her brother again Monday as Mariko walks with the color guard at the front of the Kalamazoo Memorial Day Parade.
"It's bittersweet. I think of my brother. But I also think of what I do and why I do it," she said. "You get a sense of pride."
Ellie