thedrifter
04-08-06, 07:39 AM
MARINE CORPS BASE QUANTICO, Va. (April 6, 2006) -- Greg Medina awoke in the early morning hours of Nov. 12, 2004, with an intense, shooting pain in his side. Clutching the ache, Medina was unable to cry out; he could hardly breathe. After several agonizing minutes the pain subsided, but was replaced with a haunting sense that he had lost his son, Lance Cpl. Brian Medina, an infantryman then serving with B Company, 1st Battalion, 3rd Regiment, 3rd Marine Division, in Fallujah, Iraq.
Medina went to his job as usual that morning at the construction site of the new Social Security Administration building in Washington, where he worked as a mechanical inspector. Early in the day, he mentioned his premonition to a coworker who tried to reassure him. But he was unconvinced. After work, he found reasons not to go home. He went to the gym. He ran errands. At 11 p.m., Greg Medina finally returned home. Relieved not to have received dreaded news about Brian, he prepared to settle into bed for the night. At 11:45 p.m. came the knock on the door.
As a junior Marine stationed at Kanhoe Bay, Hawaii, Brian Medina repeatedly requested orders to Iraq, essentially fighting his way onto deployment. According to Medina, his son’s enthusiasm earned him a reputation among his peers. Before deploying from Okinawa, he reportedly chastised a number of Marines in his unit for bemoaning their mission to Iraq.
“He essentially told them to pack their gear or go home. He told them, ‘We’re Marines and this is what we do,’” Medina recalled a later account from one of Brian’s squad members. Once in Iraq, Brian continued to lead from the front. The citation for his posthumous Navy Marine Corps Achievement Medal with combat distinguishing device states he “consistently performed his duties as a rifleman in an exemplary and highly professional manner … at a greater risk to his own life, he enthusiastically assumed point-man duties for his squad and occasionally his platoon.”
It was on point that Brian was fatally wounded Nov. 12, 2004, in the courtyard of a home in Fallujah two months after landing in country.
After clearing a number of houses in a search and attack mission near the company command post, Medina and fellow squad member Lance Cpl. David Branning came upon a locked gate. The two Marines bravely kicked open the gate and led their fire team inside. Medina entered first and broke left followed by Branning who went right. Both were immediately ambushed with a barrage of armor-piercing machine gun fire. Branning died on the scene and Brian later died enroute to a field hospital.
Since that day, Medina has come to understand Brian’s life in the Corps as best he can, developing relationships with his son’s friends to come to terms with his own loss and to keep the memory of Brian close.
He has been comforted by Brian’s comrades, many of who he traveled to meet in Hawaii after the unit’s rotation home. Like adopted sons, he listens to their war stories, stories he will never hear from Brian, and he reassures them that they did everything they could for his son. He is grateful for the love they shared for Brian and irrefutably demonstrated through their own acts of heroism and sacrifice.
Cpl. Andrew Ethridge attended Brian’s funeral on crutches and wept over his casket as Greg Medina wrapped an arm around his shoulders and comforted him. Andrew was shot in the leg while running to Brian’s aid as he lay dying in the courtyard. Andrew still blames himself for not being able to save his friend’s life. Cpl. Alexis Ayala, Brian’s fire team leader, was decorated in part for retrieving Branning’s body, helping to carry Brian to safety, and returning to the fire-swept courtyard a third time for a medical bag so a corpsman could continue to try to save Brian.
There is a strong military tradition in the Medina family. Greg Medina served 20 years as a Navy Seabee, his brother retired from the Air Force as a lieutenant colonel, and his father was a captain in the Army.
“I’m grateful it wasn’t drugs that killed him, or a drive-by, or a drunk driver,” Medina said. “He was killed doing something he truly believed in. The guys believed in what they were doing, and he believed he was making a difference.”
The spring following Brian’s death, Greg Medina’s employer, Jacobs Facilities, offered him a mechanical inspector position at the future site of the National Museum of the Marine Corps. He jumped at the opportunity.
He said he took the job not to serve the Marine Corps or even Brian, but for himself.
“This keeps Brian alive for me. So it’s not for Brian, it’s for me,” Medina said. “I always have a place to go, south or north. I can go to Arlington or I can come here. This is close for me. I can spend a lot of time here.”
When he visits Arlington, Medina notices how the older graves lack the fresh flowers found on the more recent plots.
“On all those new graves there is always something fresh there,” Medina said. “I just don’t want to ever have Brian’s site left bare. To do that is to forget.”
The permanence of the National Museum of the Marine Corps will never let Medina forget. But just to be sure, other safeguards are in place, too. Medina keeps a disk of photographs documenting Brian’s Marine Corps service: early pictures of Brian with perfect, post-boot camp posture to pictures of Brian posing with his squad members in Iraq. One photo taken shortly after he killed a man for the first time, shows Brian sitting against a wall in combat gear looking despondent. A later photo from another angle shows Brian unmoved, perhaps still considering the gravity of his earlier combat action.
And then there are the memories: a trip to the Quantico Marina when he caught a ridiculously small fish and, posing for a humorous photo, Brian mockingly pushed up on his father’s arm, helping him hoist his monstrous catch into the air; a surprise skydiving trip with Brian two Christmases ago, and his last view of Brian alive, disappearing in the rearview mirror as the Marine walked through the doors of Reagan National Airport.
Greg Medina has never been able to explain the sudden pain he felt when Brian was killed in Iraq, but he believes he has received another message through a more recent dream.
Greg Medina is on a sailboat with his son at the helm. Brian is wearing a favorite, orange baseball cap turned backwards, a cigar between his teeth. The sky is dark and overcast, and the first spattering of a light rain is beginning to fall. Medina is surprised to see his son manning the rudder with ease.
“Brian, where did you learn to sail?” he asks.
Brian does not answer the question, but gives his dad a confident smile.
Suddenly, Greg Medina is in the water behind the sailboat as Brian continues to cut through the waves toward the horizon.
“Where are you going?” Greg Medina wonders aloud, the boat now out of earshot.
When he wakes, Greg understands.
“He’s in a better place,” he said. “He is going on with his journey.”
Ellie
Medina went to his job as usual that morning at the construction site of the new Social Security Administration building in Washington, where he worked as a mechanical inspector. Early in the day, he mentioned his premonition to a coworker who tried to reassure him. But he was unconvinced. After work, he found reasons not to go home. He went to the gym. He ran errands. At 11 p.m., Greg Medina finally returned home. Relieved not to have received dreaded news about Brian, he prepared to settle into bed for the night. At 11:45 p.m. came the knock on the door.
As a junior Marine stationed at Kanhoe Bay, Hawaii, Brian Medina repeatedly requested orders to Iraq, essentially fighting his way onto deployment. According to Medina, his son’s enthusiasm earned him a reputation among his peers. Before deploying from Okinawa, he reportedly chastised a number of Marines in his unit for bemoaning their mission to Iraq.
“He essentially told them to pack their gear or go home. He told them, ‘We’re Marines and this is what we do,’” Medina recalled a later account from one of Brian’s squad members. Once in Iraq, Brian continued to lead from the front. The citation for his posthumous Navy Marine Corps Achievement Medal with combat distinguishing device states he “consistently performed his duties as a rifleman in an exemplary and highly professional manner … at a greater risk to his own life, he enthusiastically assumed point-man duties for his squad and occasionally his platoon.”
It was on point that Brian was fatally wounded Nov. 12, 2004, in the courtyard of a home in Fallujah two months after landing in country.
After clearing a number of houses in a search and attack mission near the company command post, Medina and fellow squad member Lance Cpl. David Branning came upon a locked gate. The two Marines bravely kicked open the gate and led their fire team inside. Medina entered first and broke left followed by Branning who went right. Both were immediately ambushed with a barrage of armor-piercing machine gun fire. Branning died on the scene and Brian later died enroute to a field hospital.
Since that day, Medina has come to understand Brian’s life in the Corps as best he can, developing relationships with his son’s friends to come to terms with his own loss and to keep the memory of Brian close.
He has been comforted by Brian’s comrades, many of who he traveled to meet in Hawaii after the unit’s rotation home. Like adopted sons, he listens to their war stories, stories he will never hear from Brian, and he reassures them that they did everything they could for his son. He is grateful for the love they shared for Brian and irrefutably demonstrated through their own acts of heroism and sacrifice.
Cpl. Andrew Ethridge attended Brian’s funeral on crutches and wept over his casket as Greg Medina wrapped an arm around his shoulders and comforted him. Andrew was shot in the leg while running to Brian’s aid as he lay dying in the courtyard. Andrew still blames himself for not being able to save his friend’s life. Cpl. Alexis Ayala, Brian’s fire team leader, was decorated in part for retrieving Branning’s body, helping to carry Brian to safety, and returning to the fire-swept courtyard a third time for a medical bag so a corpsman could continue to try to save Brian.
There is a strong military tradition in the Medina family. Greg Medina served 20 years as a Navy Seabee, his brother retired from the Air Force as a lieutenant colonel, and his father was a captain in the Army.
“I’m grateful it wasn’t drugs that killed him, or a drive-by, or a drunk driver,” Medina said. “He was killed doing something he truly believed in. The guys believed in what they were doing, and he believed he was making a difference.”
The spring following Brian’s death, Greg Medina’s employer, Jacobs Facilities, offered him a mechanical inspector position at the future site of the National Museum of the Marine Corps. He jumped at the opportunity.
He said he took the job not to serve the Marine Corps or even Brian, but for himself.
“This keeps Brian alive for me. So it’s not for Brian, it’s for me,” Medina said. “I always have a place to go, south or north. I can go to Arlington or I can come here. This is close for me. I can spend a lot of time here.”
When he visits Arlington, Medina notices how the older graves lack the fresh flowers found on the more recent plots.
“On all those new graves there is always something fresh there,” Medina said. “I just don’t want to ever have Brian’s site left bare. To do that is to forget.”
The permanence of the National Museum of the Marine Corps will never let Medina forget. But just to be sure, other safeguards are in place, too. Medina keeps a disk of photographs documenting Brian’s Marine Corps service: early pictures of Brian with perfect, post-boot camp posture to pictures of Brian posing with his squad members in Iraq. One photo taken shortly after he killed a man for the first time, shows Brian sitting against a wall in combat gear looking despondent. A later photo from another angle shows Brian unmoved, perhaps still considering the gravity of his earlier combat action.
And then there are the memories: a trip to the Quantico Marina when he caught a ridiculously small fish and, posing for a humorous photo, Brian mockingly pushed up on his father’s arm, helping him hoist his monstrous catch into the air; a surprise skydiving trip with Brian two Christmases ago, and his last view of Brian alive, disappearing in the rearview mirror as the Marine walked through the doors of Reagan National Airport.
Greg Medina has never been able to explain the sudden pain he felt when Brian was killed in Iraq, but he believes he has received another message through a more recent dream.
Greg Medina is on a sailboat with his son at the helm. Brian is wearing a favorite, orange baseball cap turned backwards, a cigar between his teeth. The sky is dark and overcast, and the first spattering of a light rain is beginning to fall. Medina is surprised to see his son manning the rudder with ease.
“Brian, where did you learn to sail?” he asks.
Brian does not answer the question, but gives his dad a confident smile.
Suddenly, Greg Medina is in the water behind the sailboat as Brian continues to cut through the waves toward the horizon.
“Where are you going?” Greg Medina wonders aloud, the boat now out of earshot.
When he wakes, Greg understands.
“He’s in a better place,” he said. “He is going on with his journey.”
Ellie