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A Last Memorial Day Thought: It will always be a day of gratitude for me, too. Before I left Korea in 2002, I had asked for an assignment in Germany, and was initially told that I would be sent there. Like most things the Army promises you, the assignment fell through (after my wife and I had spent two months studying German). Many people in my branch who were assigned to Germany were later sent to Iraq. As the spirits of PERSCOM ordained it, I spent the invasion phase of the war in an air-conditioned office at a small, comfortable academic installation in Virginia correcting grammar, syntax, and legal citation.

Soon afterward, my wife and I decided that it was time to settle down into a stable life with our own home for our growing family. We knew that if we missed this chance to grab at the D.C. job market, we were unlikely to get another. One obviously never knows what would, or wouldn’t have happened if I’d been given the assignment I’d originally requested, but the fact of this seemingly accidental series of events had not occurred to me until yesterday. My compromise with myself was to stay in the reserves.

Getting out was a very difficult decision, and one of those on whose advice I relied was an old Army intel friend I’d known since my first assignment. When you think of this guy–let’s call him S.J.–think of what a human being should be–someone of extraordinary intelligence, a tireless work ethic, empathy for others, and guided by love for his family and for 250 million strangers with which he shared a country. I think back on hundreds of soldiers I knew who had those qualities and could only wonder where they came from, why they stayed in despite the high risk and low pay, and whether my leaving them had disserved them.

After advising me to think of my family first and get out, S.J. proceeded to volunteer for duty in Iraq.

Soon afterward, I received a thick manila envelope from my friend. Inside was another, slighly smaller packet and a note explaining that if he were to be killed, that I should carry those letters to S.J.’s family in Georgia, and that I should make sure that casualty assistance did its job in looking after his family.

In my life, with the exception of my wife accepting my marriage proposal, no one has ever given me a higher honor than that request. I put the envelope in a safe place where I wouldn’t have to see it and think the dreaded thought of the long drive to Georgia should that occasion fall upon me. One of the most relieving moments of my life was returning them to him. Unopened and unread.

To S.J. and all the others who are protecting my family, and for the families of those who died protecting it, thank you.