It was November 2005 when Sgts Feldman and Crawford would become more than just brothers in arms, but blood brothers for life. The first sniper round hit Sgt. Crawford. Running to his aid, round number two hit Sgt. Feldman. There is more than a fifteen-year age difference between the two men, but age doesn't factor into surviving when many others did not.
No one can understand you quite like the person who has pounded the same ground wearing the same boots. Out of a team of thirty-two, less than ten made it home. The few that survived made a pact to be there for one another through thick and thin. Although they made it back to the states, another battle was waiting to be fought. There was and still is an ever-present darkness that often overshadows the gratefulness of making it home. Memories of battles- a constant torment, playing over and over again at night while sleeping. Who can truly understand except for your brothers and sisters who fought beside you?
Several years ago, our family (the Crawfords) started the tradition of camping with the Feldman clan in Missouri. Every year the Feldmans would tell us how much they wanted us to move closer to them. Honestly, I thought that they were just being sweet. I hadn't fully grasped how much our combat veterans need each other. During the last three camping trips to Missouri, I noticed how much happier my veteran was around his battle buddy. He laughed and joked more, slept better, and was overall more at peace with those around him. I found that I was more relaxed as well. I could let my guard down. I wasn't worried about him saying something that would undoubtedly tick someone off. I hadn't realized how uptight and isolated I had become because of my veteran's struggle with PTSD and other health issues. My world had gone from having many friends to very few. My own children had pulled away from me, and I felt I couldn't tell anyone the reality of what my life had become. The Feldman clan understood. Sgt. Feldman's father and uncle had both served during Vietnam. The uncle was infantry and had seen his own share of battles. This was a family that didn't care about what came out of the mouth because they were living it as well.
Last year we decided to move to Missouri in order to live closer to the Feldmans. My mom and sister live in Oklahoma City, putting me the closest to family than I have been in twenty-six years. I miss my daughters, who still live in Maryland, something fierce. Every time I visit them, it is absolute agony to leave. Even so, I know that moving to Missouri was the best decision to make. My veteran has gone from having no social life to having friends and a support group. He isn't nearly as surly and sour, but actually laughs most days. I have it on good authority that his battle buddy is happier as well. They go hunting and spend time shooting the breeze at the local AmVets, where they are both members.
Time does not heal all wounds, but they can be made more bearable with the support of good friends and understanding family members. Having a battle buddy to talk to can be life-saving. No matter the time of day or night, your brothers and sisters in arms are there to understand and talk you through. For Crawford and Feldman, they are forever tied by the bullets of an Iraqi sniper. Nothing could or ever will sever the bond created that day on the battlefield.
By Justina Lyn, HTH Representative & Veteran Caregiver
No comments:
Post a Comment