Brotherhood

They asked if they could be present at my son’s funeral. They were the Midwest All Airborne Alliance. I had no clue who they were. They sounded dignified, and it hardly felt right to not allow them to be there when all they wanted to do was honor my son’s service and sacrifice. They came in their jumpsuits, their Airborne jumpsuits from Vietnam. They were Rangers, and they came to pay homage to my son, their brother. More than forty years separated them by age, but the brotherhood does not make age a separation of due honor. A brother is a brother.

I only remember two of them from that day. They introduced themselves to me. There were seven hundred people in that room, but they stood out. One was a Ranger who served in Korea and Vietnam, and one of the earliest instructors at Ranger School in Dahlonega, Georgia dating back to 1953. The other, an “N” Company Ranger who served in Vietnam. I would get to know and love the two of them dearly over the next several years (I still do).

In the time following Ben’s funeral I was invited to events held by the Midwest All Airborne Alliance in the Twin Cities. One of the first events was a Veterans Day ceremony. It was held on the grounds of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in St. Paul. There was a lunch afterwards at a local restaurant. About 20 of the men who were at the ceremony came to the lunch. After settling in, somebody announced that it was time for “the toast.” All who were present formed a circle and I watched as some sort of receptacle was filled with champagne (high quality I might add) and started a trip around the room. Each man took a sip, made a toast and passed it onto the person next to him. It was explained to me that the receptacle was a prop blaster that someone had welded a bottom and gold handles onto. It was brought home from Vietnam and now paid homage to those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.

Some choked back tears as they said their brothers names out loud. They recalled the last day of life with them on the battlefield as 20-somethings, the memories permanently burned into their minds. Some dated back fifty years. I also choked back tears witnessing this. I imagined these now 60, 70 and 80 year- old men as my 21 year-old son and his brothers in arms. Would they do something similar forty or fifty years from now? I was honored and overwhelmed to make a toast to Ben and be included in the ceremonial passing of this prop blaster, now a revered chalice.

I recently attended the funeral of a local Vietnam Ranger. I was contacted by one of the men the deceased had served with. He knew who I was from reading my articles and blog in Patrolling Magazine. He wanted me to reach out to the local Rangers I knew in hopes they could attend the funeral. He was flying in from Virginia. He recounted the day his brother (the deceased) saved his life - fifty years ago! When this was mentioned during the funeral, he outwardly sobbed. Brothers never forget.

There were about ten Rangers who attended this funeral. Two came from Florida, one from Georgia, another rode his motorcycle from Arizona. Another local gentlemen had very minimal interaction with any of these brothers over the last fifty years. He kept in touch via newsletters and such, but had not seen any of them. He decided it was time. He was a team leader to one of the other men. Despite the circumstance of the gathering, these men, these brothers for so many years, had a wonderful reunion.

The only thing that makes battle psychologically tolerable is the brotherhood among soldiers. You need each other to get by. -Sebastian Junger

The gentlemen who died is survived by one son. A young man very close in age to my son Ben.
He would get to see first hand how strong the bond was between his father and the men he served with. He also came to know the depth of meaning in the bond that is felt amongst those people we come to know and love as family, that are not blood related. I warned him that just as I lost my son, but gained many more, he now had at least ten more fathers who would think of him as their own.

The week before the funeral, I received a phone call from a Vietnam Ranger named Brian. He said he had something that he wanted to send me. I had never met him or spoke to him. He used his own resources to find my number. I asked him a few questions. When did he serve? Where did he live? How did he know who I was? He had known about me for several years and has been reading my articles in Patrolling magazine. He was inspired by Bens’s sacrifice and our story.

The night I returned home from the Ranger funeral, I received the package from Brian. I have come to call these sort of things, “Benergy”: when there is no logical explanation for something, and know, without any uncertainty, that perfect timing only exists in God’s world. (I don’t believe in coincidence, only providence.) I opened the package to find a ring just my size, custom designed in the shape of a heart with the Ranger Distinguished Unit Insignia across the center. I immediately began to cry. The tears came from a mixed bag of emotions; sadness and loss, yet joy and gratitude for the love that was shared amongst my Ranger family over the course of the day and every moment that led to today.

I called Brian the next day to thank him for the ring. He asked if I was going to wear it. I promised I would and would do so with an enormous sense of love and pride. Somehow it fits both of my ring fingers perfectly. He said he felt compelled to make it for me in honor of Ben and all that I have sacrificed. Brian’s service and Ben’s service, connected only by the brotherhood, gifted me something I will cherish forever.

In Mark Batterson’s (one of my favorite authors) latest book entitled, “Double Blessing”, he says, “Legacy isn’t measured by what we accomplish in our lifetimes. It’s measured by our coaching tree, our mentoring chain. It’s measured by the fruit we grow on other people’s trees (read that again). It’s measured by the investments we make in others that are still earning compound interest twenty years later. It is measured by every blessing we bestow”.

The things we do for others may not seem like a blessing at the time, but they very well can become one later, to that person or to someone else. I challenge you to think of this with every person you encounter and every action you take. How will it affect others? Would you want this to be associated with the fruit you leave behind? The gentleman whose funeral I attended was a blessing to his brothers and to his son, who is now reaping the love shared between them for more than fifty years. My son is a blessing to those whose lives he saved and so many more who still think of him and the difference he made.

Brotherhood doesn’t begin and end on the battlefield. When the fighting is over, life becomes the battlefield. In the blessings and losses, in the places where souls are poured out and meld together like spilled mercury, iron-clad bonds remain, and serve them to their final breath.

Life brings sorrows and joys alike. It is what a man does with them - not what they do to him - that is the true test of his mettle. - Theodore Roosevelt