Still Standing Book Chapter 44

K K K
Chapter 44
My Heroes
In some ways all of the pain and suffering I endured is more than
offset by the overwhelming generosity and outpouring of good will
from so many people. If I learned anything from this horrific experience
it is that there are many, many more good people than bad in
the world. That is why we fought in Iraq, to give the good people in
that part of the world the opportunity to share in the good life we
have here in America.
Three of my brothers lived and died for the belief that
everyone deserves to share our freedoms. As their brother, it
is my obligation to ensure that their lives were not lost in vain
and that America continues to stand up for freedom anywhere
others are enslaved, free and open communication is prohibited,
education is denied, or religion is dictated. I live to honor Bryan,
Corey, and Jimmy, and all of my brothers in service who gave
their lives to win these basic human rights for people they did
not know.
This chapter has been by far the most difficult, because no matter
how many changes I make, I am not satisfied. I cannot find words to
sufficiently express or accurately describe what Bryan, Corey, and
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Jimmy meant to me—their friendship and work ethic, and all that
they stood for.
SGT Bryan McDonough
Bryan was one of those guys who was born to be a soldier. He
was so good at it he made everything look easy, much like a professional
athlete will make the most incredible action appear simple,
until you try to do it. We met on the firing range at Camp Shelby at
the beginning of our deployment. I realized immediately that Bryan
was a superb machine gunner and when one of my guys departed
with a bad back I quickly requested Bryan as the replacement.
Once we were together, it was like we had always known one
another, and we did grow up almost neighbors. I attended White
Bear Lake High School, and he was at Roseville High School in the
next suburb. We discovered that we even knew some of the same
people growing up and wondered how often we had crossed paths
before joining the Guard.
Being Bryan’s team leader made being good friends awkward
at times, especially when I handed out extra duty or he drew some
undesirable detail. Tension would hang over us, and he would go
silent; then there would be a knock on my door, and there was
Bryan. “Want to go to chow?” We would walk to the chow hall, chat,
and eat like nothing had happened.
He was such a good soldier that he was named Soldier of the
Quarter for Bravo Company, and then Soldier of the Battalion in
November 2006.
We can’t bring Bryan back, but his boundless energy, contagious
smile, and profound commitment to doing the right thing lives on
through the annual gathering of soldiers, friends, and family at the
Bryan McDonough American Heroes Charity Golf Tournament at
Oak Glen Country Club in Stillwater, Minnesota. Proceeds from
the Tournament are used to assist wounded Minnesota soldiers and
their families.
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The Third Annual American
Heroes Tournament drew 253
golfers, including many of the
guys we served with and a few
celebrities, such as Minnesota
Twins coaches Ron Gardenhire
and Steve Little. The tournament
has grown so large that it has
morning and afternoon sessions
of eighteen-hole scramble play
with lunch and dinner programs
that bring in even more people
for the massive silent auction
and dance.
Bryan’s golf tournament is my favorite day of the year. It is a day
that everybody from our unit takes off work and gets together to
play golf, laugh, drink, and reminisce. It is the one day of the year
that we all go back to 2005 when we were together and things were
normal. Bryan, Corey, and Jimmy are not at the tournament in body,
but we know they are there.
I am proud to have had the opportunity to serve with Bryan, but
even more proud to have had him as my friend.
SGT Corey Rystad
Corey was another guy I got to know at Camp Shelby when he
hopped into the bunk above me and quickly became a little brother
to me. Coming from a small town in northern Minnesota, he was
the kindest person I ever met.
Every soldier talks about what they are going to do when they
go home. We all tossed around crazy ideas and laid out goals. Corey
was going back to school to become an x-ray technician in a rural
northern community. I constantly urged him to move to the Twin
Cities, mostly because I wanted all my guys nearby when we went
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I share one last good time with
Bryan and Corey two hours before
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home so we could hang out together. But, as much as I loved the
hustle and bustle of the big city, Corey wanted quiet and fresh
country air.
At his funeral more than a thousand people including Minnesota
Governor Tim Pawlenty, U.S. Senator Mark Dayton, Congressman
Collin Peterson, and nearly the entire city of Red Lake Falls crowded
in and around St. Joseph’s Catholic Church on December 13, 2006.
The sun broke out that day adding uncharacteristic warmth to a
December day in the far North.
The town’s businesses closed, and flags dropped to half-staff
on every building while their young hero was laid to rest between
two tall pine trees in snow-covered northern Minnesota—far
from the scorching Iraq desert where he died. His death brought
the war home to Minnesota’s remote farm region. In response to
many requests, the funeral was broadcast live to Thief River Falls,
Baudette, Karlstad, and other small towns that hug the Canadian
border.
Like most soldiers, Corey was a good athlete. He lettered in
football and hockey at Lafayette High School in Red Lake Falls
where he graduated in 2004. He loved golf, hunting, and helping
younger hockey players by organizing referees for the local hockey
program. I often think back to our time at Pensacola Beach when
Corey let my sons bury him in the sand, and he was enjoying it and
laughing more than they were. He would have made a great father.
SSG James Wosika Jr.
A Minnesota State champion wrestler and football player for
Highland Park High School in St. Paul (Class of 2000), Wosika
served with the Minnesota National Guard in Kosovo and Iraq.
Following high school, he returned frequently to help coach young
wrestlers.
After Jimmy died, fifteen friends and relatives, including his
sister Nichole, her husband John Stafford, and James Wosika Sr.,
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Jimmy gives me a free ride in Kosovo
asked Minneapolis tattoo artist Tommy Reif to put portraits of
Jimmy on their bodies in homage to their hero. Reif had created a
tattoo for Jimmy when he was on leave in August 2006.
That image of Jimmy’s picture on my computer screen along
with the story that he had been killed is burned into my brain—it
is still hard to believe that he is gone. When I think back to when
we were young, wide-eyed privates the memories conjure up happy
thoughts. We always talked about what it would be like when we
became leaders, what we would do, and how we would lead. Those
talks seem so long ago, but Jimmy became a great leader. His men
respected him and the things he taught them.
It is easy to sit in an Armory on drill weekend and talk about
what we would do in combat and how we would lead, but it is
another thing to actually go into battle in Iraq and do it. SSG James
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Wosika Jr. put his life on the line for the men in his team, and he
most likely saved their lives in the process. I could not be more
proud of him for what he did and the example he set for the soldiers
that follow in his footsteps.
A final thought…
My heart aches just thinking about my friends. I believe in what
our unit accomplished in Iraq, and I believe my friends gave their
lives defending a worthy cause.
Often I find myself looking back at December 2, 2006, and it
always feels to me that there was a plan all along for us to hit that
IED. We took more photographs the day before, and on December
2, than on any other day. We all slowed down to enjoy just talking,
laughing, and working together. We enjoyed that day.
Memories of the day expose a range of emotions. It was the day
that two of my best friends died and I nearly died, but it was also
the last time we were all together and happy. I think about our foot
patrol that morning and the conversations we had. It is those conversations
that I miss the most. I long for the random questions Corey
would ask. I miss the times I was on overnight guard shift at the
pump house and Corey or Bryan climbed into the tower where we
talked through the night about nothing and everything. It’s still hard
for me to believe we will never have those conversations again. I still
talk to them sometimes when I’m alone, but they don’t talk back.
All of my wounds have healed except the hole in my heart. That
wound will never heal, and that’s fine with me. As strange as it
sounds, it was the loss of my friends and my legs that showed me
how to live my life; it taught me to see everything in a new perspective.
Disaster was a cruel way to learn this lesson, but I will not
waste it. I see every day as a gift, truly the first day of the rest of my
life, and I will make today the very best day.
I miss those guys, and I am committed to making them as proud
of me as I am of them.
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