Funeral Home

When Asher passed away a family friend took care of the funeral home details. They owned a funeral home in California and they took it upon themselves to contact one in Georgia and made the arrangements and even paid for the cremation. I think my dad was the one that picked up Ashers remains, I don't have the clearest memories around that time. Somehow I know they ended up at mom and dads house and we didn't feel ready to get them for quite awhile. At that time I was very thankful for the love people showed with amazing gestures like this one. In the last few months I have come to realize how far short those feelings fell.
A couple of days ago I went to the funeral home and got Paxton's remains. I had been putting it off for weeks. I knew that I did not want to bring Avery and North. I also knew that I did not want to go alone. It worked out that I had a car appointment for a recalled air bag so I had to be in town alone. Heather could not come with Indy because we did not know how long we would be waiting and that just is not a good idea with heart monitors and feeding and everything. So I went alone. I felt sick for days leading up to it. I went and got a haircut before I went to the funeral home. I needed a haircut, but it also felt like I needed to stall, to push the inevitable back as much as possible. When I called to ask if I could come by they asked how soon and said five minutes would be fine. They showed me into the waiting room and I waited, for about fifteen minutes. After that the very gracious gentleman that I had been dealing with from the beginning came in looking stressed. He told me the plaque was not ready yet. I told him we had not ordered anything extra for Paxton. He then realized he had me confused with another family who had also lost a twin, I guess they came in a day after us. A few moments later I was standing outside with a tiny white box, plastic with a label, Paxton Bridge Lilley. What do you do? Standing there in downtown Redlands, 100 degree weather, the impossibly small box in your hands, and a car appointment to make in ten minutes. I made it to the car with just tears on my cheeks. Once inside the car I was sobbing uncontrollably. I have never personally seen anyone driving around weeping, but I know it happens, at least it did happen.

I spent the rest of the day with a thousand yard stare on my face.

When I got home I put the tiny box in my pocket and brought it inside to put in a safe place. I did not want the kids to see it and ask more questions. I already had that conversation with them when they asked me, "what will they do with Paxton?". How do you explain cremation to an 8 and 10 year old? I stalled on that discussion too. I called my dad to see what he thought I should say, like he always does he had good words.

That's about all I can say about that day.

Birth mourning

We had been in the hospital for ten nights, and had a pretty regular routine down. I had been able to be there to entire time thanks to wonderful guys at work filling in for me and my wonderful sister and her husband watching our children. We had grown used to having the baby monitored multiple times throughout the day and everything was looking good, we were feeling positive about our chances of keeping him in until at least 34 weeks. But when they started monitoring him on the night of the 24th everything was different. Indy was not moving around and his heart rate was too high. They decided to keep watching him for the next few hours but scrapped that when Heather started having more contractions and Indy's heart rate started having episodes of dropping followed by the nurses rushing in to adjust Heather and put her on O2 trying to get him to go back up. At about one in the morning on the 25th they decided it was time for an emergency c-section. Heather was justifiably afraid and upset. She was trembling as they wheeled her out of the room to get everything ready for surgery, I had to wait until I was summoned once everything was ready. I was left to pack up our stuff, sliding around the room in my white coveralls, paper boots and cap. I was so scared and with everything they had been saying about Indigo's condition I was fighting the thoughts that we might be about to lose him. An eternity later they brought me into the surgery room. I've now been through three of these with Heather. It feels like I am definitely not supposed to be there, they make you duck under and climb over all these wires and hoses to get to a tiny steel stool next to your wife's face and you just have to cower there in a space not large enough for any man, while you try and comfort your wife. Heather was still trembling and was in great distress. I did my best to comfort her but felt completely useless. I just kept praying over and over again for peace, and for protection over the baby and Heather. This c-section was by far the most traumatic of the three. I think the concern over how Indigo was doing, the "emergency" rush into surgery and the knowledge that our little Paxton was also coming into the world in a way, even though he was already in Heaven. Heather was having a very rough time, but she did so well, and was so strong. When little Indy came out we heard him cry, but they immediately whisked him away and we did not see him. Then it was time for Paxton. I do not have the words. What does one say about an experience like this? Is it worth writing? Worth reading? I do not know, but here goes. I felt like I was going to be sick, I was so overwhelmed with fear for Indy, fear for Heather, fear from the knowledge that they were now bringing our Paxton out, a son we would never know in this world. It was everything I could do to not throw up. I remember thinking how ridiculous I was for feeling sick, Heather was the one under real duress. We had decided that we would not see baby Paxton, we did not want our memory of him to be of his earthly body that he inhabited so briefly. We only asked to have his little feet and hands printed if they were able. They were able to get his feet prints for us. I watched a nurse walk out of the room with a bundle of blankets, our son, our Pax. He already at peace, real actual peace, an impossible thought to comprehend for me in the terrible surgery room chaos. All during the rest of the process, as they were sewing little Heather back up, I was just waiting for them to come in and tell me that Indy had passed. I was praying constantly for him to be perfectly healthy, but I just kept thinking they were going to tell me the news any moment. They never came with that news, or any news. Eventually I started assuming they were waiting to tell me later on, once we were out of surgery. The mind can play some terrible tricks. What seemed like hours later they were rolling Heather out into the hallway, they stopped by a door and asked if we wanted to see him. I went in, he was so tiny, but somehow I actually remember thinking I thought he would be smaller. They were poking him with needles and he had some breathing apparatus strapped to his face. I took a couple pictures for Heather. She could just barely glimpse him through the door. I felt like I was barely functioning, I knew I should be doing things, asking questions, I could not, I just stood there. When I walked back out the look on Heather's face was heart breaking, the only thing that mommy wanted was to hold her baby, and of course, she could not, he was too fragile, too early. We went to the recovery room. Nurses poked at Heather and refused to let her have any water for a couple hours. They brought me paper work to fill out. I did it wrong the first time, it was three in the morning.

More to follow...

Job 1:21
And he said, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return.
The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

A bridge and the blues

The selection of names for our baby boys was a difficult task that I had been putting off. I did not want to deal with the pain of choosing a name for our baby we lost. This avoidance was actually silly because of course not choosing a name was not making anything easier. So sitting together in the hospital we started looking at Heathers list. After much deliberation and talk of what possible nicknames would be and meanings we decided on Paxton Bridge for our baby we lost. Heather chose Paxton because it means peace, and our little one with the Lord is in the only real peace there is. She also chose Bridge as his middle name. Bridge we pulled from the song "The Great Exchange" by Thrice. The song is a parable on Christ and his willing sacrifice for us so that we could cross over the endless sea of our sin and be with him in Heaven. We love knowing that Paxton is at peace with our Father in Heaven, and we ache to have him here with us at the same time.

We chose Indigo Range for our little man who is still with us. The word Indigo came up because it is also in the lyrics to "The Great Exchange". We both loved the sound of the name, and the nickname "Indy" for while he is little seems perfect for such a tiny man. Indigo is also a very deep blue color and it does not need to be said that the loss of another child has brought its own deep blues into our family once again. Not that we intended this sorrowful meaning in his name, in fact I only thought of it after the fact. But we do live in a family where Avery is keenly aware of the loss of her own brother Asher and speaks of him often. It is a reality for us that we must face death and loss, even at 8 and 10 years of age, the Lilleys children are learning about the blues. As we thought about a middle name for Indy we talked about words that meant valley, since we are passing through a valley in our lives right now but we know that God will bring us back out of it one day and into the high country again. We settled on Range because it encompasses a larger idea to us. To us the range is the valleys and the mountains all taken as one.  The idea that God leads us through our times in the valleys and our times on the peaks. That the whole time, through the deepest dark and the most blinding light He is with us, He walks beside us, He sheds tears with us, He rejoices with us. We wish desperately that we could see what Paxton would have been like, and we are so thankful to have been blessed with Indigo here with us. 

More to follow...

Take a few moments if you would and listen to the words of this song.

Thrice, The Great Exchange 

Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

I am strong, I am helpless.

Not quite a month after we found out we had lost "baby A" I got a call from Heather while I was at work. Another routine appointment had turned into something else. Her water had ruptured and she was going to be kept in the hospital until it was time to deliver. My captain allowed me to leave work on the spot when I got the news, before finding someone to fill my place (I am a fireman if you do not know). During the two hour drive to the hospital I was getting tiny bits of information from Heather and trying to figure out what we were going to do with Avery and North, I knew from the little contact I had with Heather that I was going to be needed with her and of course the kids couldn't stay overnight in the hospital. My wonderful sister Annamae and her fantastic husband stepped up and drove hours to get the kids, even going to far as coming an additional hour up the mountain to help pack the kids stuff. The first night in the hospital was very stressful, I got lost trying to get in when I finally got back after packing up the kids, I ended up in some forbidden corridor behind only locked doors and had to wait for someone to come along and let me out. The night passed very slowly, Heather was having contractions and the baby's heart rate kept dropping, they would have to reposition her and give her oxygen trying to get his heart rate to go back up. We didn't know what was going on or what to expect. We were both already so afraid that we were going to loose him too and the night seemed to last forever, with the fear of the worst getting ready to occur at any moment. We made it through that night. Over the next few days as Heather settled in to being in the hospital for an extended time things began to calm down, less contractions and baby was looking good on the monitor. He had very limited fluid but he would be able to stay up to four weeks we were told if everything kept looking good. I was able to stay with Heather in the hospital, they even brought me my very own hospital bed so I didn't have to sleep on one of those fold out chairs they put fathers in. (It is a little known fact that the hospital father fold out chair is an almost exact replica of a medieval torture device found in the dungeon of a castle in France.) I was able to stay away from work because a group of my fiends there got together and found me guys to work my shifts in my place. I cannot tell you how helpful all of this was, the kids in a safe happy place and the ability to stay by Heather's side, such blessings in a storm. We spent twelve days and eleven nights in the hospital before anything changed, getting into a routine of monitoring baby and Heather throughout the day, smuggling caffeine in (no caffeine in the Adventist hospital), getting food from the outside world.
This whole time in the hospital I have been having a pretty difficult time dealing with everything. I think all men will understand this instinctively. To be brutally honest at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am a strong man, I am fast, I have been in life or death situations more times than I would like to talk about, and I have come out relatively unscathed. I have been an Army Ranger in combat, I am a fireman. I can handle myself, I am unafraid. Until I'm rendered helpless and terrified by something the I have no control over. Trying to be helpful, comforting and positive when all of my attributes as a man are worthless is incredibly difficult. When things are going wrong with the woman I love I want to fix them, but with things like this there is nothing I can do. All I can do is pray for wisdom and strength, and rely on Him for what I need to be what Heather needs from me.
Over the course of life's trials I have found that when I recognize that I do not have what I need to carry on and I turn to Him, (something I know I should be doing everyday but do not) I do not receive a sweeping peace and understanding, I do not suddenly become able to easily handle the situation. It remains a struggle, but as I continue to cling to Him I do feel His peace and I do see Him helping carry me through. I still have to work, it does not get easy. The pain of loss is still just as devastating, but I know the Father understands and weeps with me. As much as I would love it to all just go away when I give it to God I also understand that if it did I would never learn anything that I am supposed to from these experiences. As much as I hate it I understand why He does not just scoop everything up for me and make it right the moment I ask. Just the same as I do with North and Avery when they ask for help with something I know they can do, or can learn from, I do help them, but I do not do it all for them, they must get their hands dirty with me.

More to follow...

Psalm 41:6
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Another Loss

Where to begin? When we found out Heather was pregnant, it was wonderful and scary, we had so much fear of loosing another baby. This fear was one of the main reasons, if not the only reason that I had been resisting the idea of having any more children after we lost our son Asher. Then we found out she was pregnant with twins. I had not even considered the possibility of us having twins again, it took me totally by surprise. I was so excited, and so afraid all at once. And then came March 17th, a routine ultrasound that rapidly turned into a nightmare. We were told that "baby A" had passed away. They didn't know why. It would put "baby B" at risk though, risk of also passing away and risk of brain damage. With broken hearts Heather and I stood in the grass outside the hospital and I knelt down to tell the kids why we were crying. The brother they had not met yet was gone. I will never forget the tears in both of their precious little eyes. We hugged, I said a small prayer, a stranger passing by offered to get us water or anything we needed. I cannot tell you how much my heart ached for Heather during the following weeks. I could not imagine the pain of feeling "baby A" kicking on one side of her precious belly and the stillness of "baby B" on the other. Joy and heartbreak so close together as to be indistinguishable. We clung to God and to each other. Though the time that has elapsed now compared to the loss of Asher is much shorter there has been a difference in our response. After we lost Asher after 7 months with him, I feel like we shut down, went on autopilot. For me that meant just working whatever job I could find to provide a living, drinking more than I should have been and just trying to ignore the fact that we were deeply hurting and needed help. We never really talked about it, with anyone. If you were around us during this time please don't take this as a negative comment about you, I wouldn't have been able to talk to you honestly if you had tried. This lead to some really bad years, dark times that I wont go into here. During all this I would absolutely say that I believed in Jesus, but I was not following Him, or living for Him. Contrast that loss and those years with the days and weeks following the loss of "baby A" and we are different people. After years in the darkness we started pursuing our relationship with Jesus again. Heather and I have come through the darkness and we are now doing our best to follow Him. We have also been "surrounded" by so many people loving us and praying for us. We have been devastated but not defeated. We have been clinging to Him and asking for peace.

More to follow.

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:7

Seen A Darkness

"We have seen a darkness, but we have seen the light."

This marks the eighth year since our Asher left us to go on ahead to our Father in Heaven. While we continue to struggle some days and thrive others we have not lost sight of the light, the hope, the promise of eternity with Jesus. 

I borrowed the title of this post and the heading from John Mark Mcmillan's song "Seen A Darkness". The moment I heard the song it became a reminder to me of the truth that even though we have seen a darkness, even though we still do not understand why, even though the valley of the shadow knows our name, we have seen the light in our lives. We have seen Gods hand in our lives, we recognize his blessings in our lives though we know we deserve nothing short of death ourselves. 

Tonight before we set our balloons free, we stood in a tiny circle together and read some verses from the Bible and I prayed. During the prayer I cried and Heather cried which is normal, this time however Avery cried too. When I opened my eyes at the end her little bright eyes were waiting for me, smiling back at me through her tears. She seems to have an understanding about all this that surpasses her years. We know she has a special connection to Asher since they were twins and spent every moment together from the very beginning. Little North was so sweet after the prayer too, he seemed to be alright with being the only one not crying, he told us "I'm not crying because I didn't see Asher", and then he gave us a hug. We stood there all hugging for a few moments before letting the balloons free. 

As we watched them go Avery and North pointed at the sky, each claiming individual balloons that were their own, "that's me and Avery and Asher" "those two are you and me and that one's Asher". 

We watched until we couldn't see them any more and our eyes ached from straining to see, straining to follow. 

We have seen a darkness

But we have seen a light

We have felt the love 

Of a hope’s hot blood

In the machinery of night

We have seen a darkness

But we have seen the sun

We have come undone 

To a love’s hot song

In a symphony of blood

The valley of the shadow knows our name

We have seen a night 

But we have seen the day

Dressed in the blood of love’s hot veins 

We have overcome

Yeah, we have overcome

Born into the grave

But born a second time

We’ve been born again 

Into loves hot hands 

On someone else’s dime

The valley of the shadow knows our name

We have seen a night 

But we have seen the day

Dressed in the blood of loves hot veins 

We have overcome

Yeah, we have overcome

You have called us loved 

And you have called us wanted

One time we were bruised

We were bankrupt and haunted

taking our eyes with them

This July marked the 7th anniversary of Asher going on ahead of us up to Heaven. We have a tradition of getting balloons and writing messages on them and releasing them into the air on the day he passed. This year that day happened to fall during our Lilley family vacation / family reunion to Colorado. We ended up being in beautiful Estes Park that day and after we got enough balloons for everyone we drove back to the cabin we were staying in and started to hike up to a small meadow we had found the day before. We got everyone up there, including a very pregnant Emma, small babies and a couple dogs. Everyone wrote their messages, the kids drew pictures, the adults took pictures. We cried. When the moment came and everyone had finished passing our two sharpies around we all stood at the base of the small meadow in the bright sun, beautiful patches of clouds floating vast and far above us, I started to try and talk. I wasn't able to say much, just a thank you to the most important group of people in my life for being willing to hike up to that spot and share a difficult moment with my little corner of the Lilley family. After a couple false starts I was able to make my voice cooperate enough to read from Romans 8:18-25 and Mark 10:13-16. I could see Avery (Asher's twin sister), North, Gabriel and Gwen standing just off to my left as I talked and read, tears in my eyes and my voice cracking. They just stood and watched, not moving much, no sounds. Those that know children at all, especially these children, know that when they are together as a group how rare it is for them to be still and silent. I wondered what they were thinking, what sort of memories they were forming, how this moment would look to them when they were grown. We waited a bit for the wind to shift in the right direction and then on Dads call we all let our balloons go. They rose fast and bright into the sky, taking our eyes with them for as long as they could still be picked out of the deep blue. Hugs, tears, a few short but deeply moving words from parents, brothers and sisters and then everyone headed back down, leaving Heather and I at the base of the meadow, looking up. We talked a little bit, prayed with our eyes open and wet, searching for answers that we knew weren't ever going to be there, pointed out the last visible balloon as it rose almost impossibly fast into an immense white pillow of a cloud. It looked as if it was in an incredible hurry to get where it was going, I know the feeling, I wanted to follow.

It feels like leaving you behind.

Our son spent his second full day in kindergarten today, his sister spent her second day in second grade. When we dropped them off and drove away my wife was crying because our son was requesting to be dropped off, he didn't want us coming inside the gate with him. He was ready and excited to go to school and he didn't need us to be there. This is a good thing of course, good that he is well adjusted enough to feel comfortable in the new environment and a normal part of growing up. It was hard for my wife though, because he's so clearly not our baby anymore. For me the mornings events felt different. I found myself thinking of Asher, our son who would have also been spending his second day in second grade with his twin sister if he hadn't passed away at seven months from SIDS. As we drove away I couldn't shake the feeling that we were somehow leaving him behind, leaving Asher behind. I'm not really sure why I felt this way. It could be part of my own realization that our children aren't babies anymore and of course our only memories of Asher are as a baby. It could be watching my wife deal with a normal bit of happy sorrow that all moms go through on back to school days as their children grow faster than they would like and knowing that she's also thinking of our Asher too. I don't know.

Six years

Some things have changed a lot in the last two years since I wrote about Asher, most things have stayed the same.

We are in a very different place as a family, geographically and my job but more than that we are in a better place spiritually this year than we have been in a very long time. We had to go through some very tough times to get to where we are right now but I can honestly say there is joy and peace in our home in a way that I can only explain with a renewed passion for Christ in Heather and myself.

We both have found hope in an idea that first came to us through a tshirt my father started wearing after a friend of his gave it to him. The idea is to imagine heaven (the shirt has just those two words printed across the front). I know for me personally this idea - (this post was left at this spot unfinished, the rest that follows I chose to add in 2013)

The idea of imagine Heaven first appealed to me because I could look forward to the day when I would see my son again. It still holds that same appeal but something has been added as I've grown closer to the Lord over the past years. I now look forward with great anticipation and I imagine Heaven as the amazing promise of spending eternity with Jesus, spending forever with God the Father and the Holy Spirit.

I still look forward with great longing to the day when I can see Asher again, when I can speak to him, laugh with him in that perfect peace and joy that Heaven will be. I still look forward to seeing my cousin Mike, my cousin Wade. I look forward to seeing grandma Lilley, grandma Strang and grandpa Strang, Heather's own Papa Trukki. I also know however and I rejoice in the knowledge that Heaven is not made for our family reunions, it is made for us to spend eternity in the presence of God, worshiping Him and living, really living as we are made to live, in perfect fellowship with our Father.

Imagine Heaven

Really, just try, you can't come close.

Asher has been gone four years

Warning: this post is not hopeful, not complete, it is broken. It might make you sad, though that is not it's purpose. I have tried so many times to write about the night Ashed died and sometimes I have put a great deal of words down on the page, other times only a few, always to be thrown away shortly after.

July 26th 2005

When Heather first found Asher not breathing and called me from the front room I was asleep. I woke up immediately and by the tone of her voice that something was very wrong. I pulled him out of his crib and started giving him cpr, shouting at Heather to call 911. I gave him cpr for 12 minutes before the ambulance arrived and the paramedic came in and took him in her arms and out of our little apartment.

The first hospital we went to was the wrong one, our little boy was not there. I was standing in an emergency room in the middle of the night with my crying wife and we did not know where our son was.

I remember when we finally found the right place a detective came in and asked us a bunch of questions, his tape recorder held out to catch our every choking word. He was doing his job, that night his job was to find out if we had something to do with what happened.

When they decided to transfer him to another hospital that specialized in infants I remember sitting in our car and watching as they put him back into the ambulance and started driving away. I watched as one of the guys who was standing outside noticed us waiting there, he tried to signal the ambulance driver to turn on his sirens, the driver didn't see him, I saw the concern in the other guys face, I understood he wanted them to turn on the lights and sirens, but only for our comfort, not because he thought our boy could be saved if they drove faster. We followed that ambulance through town, stopping at red lights from time to time.

I remember the doctors face when he told us that Asher had no brain activity, that when they removed his breathing tube he would not start breathing on his own. I remembered the moments after we had made the decision to remove Asher from life support. I went back into his room to ask the doctors if they could clean up the smear of what I assume was antiseptic around the tape that was holding his breathing tube in his mouth. I wanted him to look as much like our little boy as he could when Heather came in to say goodbye. They said they couldn't do it, they asked me to leave because the were taking a tissue sample from him so they could match him to possible recipients for his little organs that we had decided to donate. I asked my dad to pray over Asher before they took him away, dad cried, he prayed well, though for the first time in my life he did not seem to know what to say. I felt bad for asking him to do that. I remember being told after they took him away that his little organs were so damaged by lack of oxygen that none of them were usable for donating to others. I didn't understand. I don't understand.

If you take anything away from this at all let it be a commitment to learn cpr, I had not been certified for years and could hardly remember what to do, I always wonder if I could have made a difference, I wonder if I was doing it wrong.

Treasure your family, you never know how much longer you have. So many times as I watch my Avery and North play together I wonder what kind of little man Asher would have been. I can not help but imagine him being a wonderful brother to them both.

I am so blessed to know that Asher is with my Father in heaven now, I try and imagine it, I know I fall short, yet even in my limited imagination it is beautiful, I am blessed.

edit: Moments after I posted this my son North came up and started crawling all over me laughing and hugging and being silly, for a moment I tried to get him to go away because I was feeling sad and distracted, then I realized that he was there to remind me that I REALLY am blessed, so we wrestled and laughed. God is good.

159 - Last Call

I can not begin to express how amazing it was to attend Mike's funeral. To see my fallen brother so honored, to see his faith in God so brightly on display for all to see was a wonderful blessing. Sometimes things happen in life and no matter what anyone says to cheer you up you know you will never understand why. People may tell you that everything is in Gods plan and according to His timing, and even though you believe that same thing with all your soul it doesn't help. For me the loss of Mike is one of those things. Seeing the way John and Mel handled everything was such a blessing. To hear Matt talk about his brother, through some tears, to over 1700 people was just awesome, he did an amazing job. The letters written by John, Mel and Tawny were all so perfect. Jamison also did a great job sharing his memories of Mike. It was so clear that God had (has) His hands on this family, even through this tragedy. I was deeply impressed at the family's thankfulness for the entire law enforcement community, and the concern they expressed for their safety and salvation. It was an honor to have known Mike, he is my hero, my brother.

The text below was called out over the radio during the funeral.

"All units and stations, clear the radio for a moment of silence in honor of our fallen friend, Montana Highway Patrol Trooper, Michael Haynes, MHP 159.


159 Kalispell Direct, Status Check.


159 Kalispell Direct, Status Check.


159 Kalispell Direct.

Copy 159 you are now off shift, en route to that place your heavily father has prepared for you. May God’s benediction go with you, and be with those who mourn your passing. We cherish your memory and your dedication and service to the Montana highway patrol and to the people of Montana.”

159 Last Call

Go to http://mhaynes1982.spaces.live.com/

A cry gone up for a fallen friend

Last week a friend of mine passed away. I served with him during my last deployment into Iraq. He made it through multiple deployments unscathed and got out of the Army this year. Two weeks ago it was discovered that he had a brain tumor that required emergency surgery. He suffered a stroke during the surgery, and passed away shortly after. He is survived by his wife and two children.

I would have counted this man among my friends during my time in the military, but we were not close in a conventional sense. I had not spoken to him in several years. When I first heard what happened I found myself surprised at how much it affected me. Since I found out I have had the opportunity to talk with a close friend who is still in my old unit. He attended and participated in the funeral. I have been slowly taking all this in over the last several days, praying for his family and his close friends. To be honest though I have privately felt a little bit foolish for the amount of emotion his death has stirred in me. Trying to decipher why this was lead me to two different speculations.

I think the most obvious reason that this would have a deep effect on me is my own intimate knowledge of the loss of a family member. And thus my own attempt to try and imagine the feelings of loss his family is going through.

The other reason is that this man was a brother of mine. In the same worn out cliched sense that you have undoubtedly seen dramatized in movies on war and within the pages of military history. Brothers in arms, if you will. I will be the first to admit I do not even like writing that phrase, it sounds so worn out, and overused. It does not make it any less true however. This man was a fellow soldier, someone that I played endless hours of Xbox with, ate meals with, and went out into the dark of night with to deal with evil men. I believe the invisible, unspoken bond is there, between all men who face trials on the scale of a war. This man understood what it meant to serve his country, he is a hero of mine.

Take some time to pray for his family.