Page 85 of Salute, To Bravery
“Yes?” I respond, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the chaos around me.
“I regret to inform you, Ma’am, but your husband was injured in Afghanistan. Normally, we would send someone to be there with you at this time. However, your sister-in-law, Sergeant Scott, told me she would have my balls if someone didn’t call you ASAP.”
My body tenses at his words, and I freeze with fear. The kitchen fades into a blur as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Preparing myself for the worst possible news, I manage to ask,“How serious is it?” Thankful for Reilynn in this moment more than ever before.
My greatest fear has become a reality, something I always pray never happens when my husband is deployed as frequently as he is. But there is always that lingering possibility in the back of my mind. And unfortunately, our luck has finally run out. There’s a pause, heavy and suffocating. I can hear the sound of my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
“He’s stable, but has sustained significant injuries. We’re arranging for his transport to a military hospital now.”
“Is Craig… will he be okay? Is Reilynn okay?” My voice trembles despite my best efforts to sound strong. I glance at the clock, its ticking a relentless reminder of how quickly life can change.
“We’re doing everything we can,” he assures me, but his words feel hollow. “I can’t provide all the details yet. You’ll need to prepare for his arrival, and I suggest you gather your family. They’ll want to be there for support.”
Support. I let the word sink in, but all I can think about is the image of my husband, possibly lying in a hospital bed, far from home. The twins’ laughter suddenly seems distant, replaced by an overwhelming wave of dread. What do I even do? It wasn’t like this was something that happened on a regular basis. I wished someone were here to help me through this.
“Mrs. Scott? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” I swallow hard, forcing back the tears threatening to spill over, but I need to hold it together; the kids can’t know. “What do I need to do?”
“Please stay near your phone. We’ll be in touch as soon as we have more information. Please make sure to tell Sergeant Scott we called, too.” He pauses. “And, Ma’am, I’m truly sorry.”
As the call ends, I’m left with a hollow silence that feels impossibly loud. My hands tremble as I place the phone down,the kitchen now a chaotic battlefield of half-finished chores. I can’t stay here. I need to gather the twins, to shield them from the weight of this news for just a moment longer. Wiping away the tear streaks on my face, I take a deep breath, steeling myself, then step into the living room.
“Kids! Let’s get ready for practice!” I call out, my voice a little too bright, a little too forced. They rush in, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.Just hold it together, plenty of women have been through this before.
But it wasn’t like there was a ‘how to handle shit when your husband gets injured’ pamphlet.
I didn’t need to do this alone.I quickly called my mother-in-law and let her know what little information I had. She would know what to do, having been a military spouse herself at one point. There was no way I could do this without her. She was always supporting us and being the voice of reason early on in our marriage.
I can’t let them see my fear, not yet. I will hold it together for them, for him. My husband is fighting for our family; the least I can do is fight for him, too.
Chapter Two.
Craig
Isnap awake, my heart racing in my chest, once again remembering the horror of that day. The last thing I recall is looking over at Brandon, my best friend, as his eyes went cold, drained of life before the unconscious darkness finally consumed me.
As death looms ever closer, a wave of remorse crashes over me, relentless and unyielding. All the missed opportunities and unspoken words flood my mind. The never-ending to-do list my wife, Jane, constantly reminds me about, tasks I never seem to complete. The pointless arguments, the harsh words exchanged in moments of anger that now seem so trivial in the shadow of loss. I cling desperately to the hope of more time to make things right—to apologize for every mistake, to mend every rift. But not everyone is granted that chance. I watched Brandon slip away, and I can’t shake the guilt that wraps around me like a shroud suffocating my every breath.
The smell of hospital antiseptic helps ground me, a sterile reminder of my reality. Deep breaths come in shaky intervals as I grapple with the fragments of memory. They come in painful flashes, each one a shard of glass piercing my consciousness. It’slike trying to solve a puzzle with the crucial pieces missing, each recollection blurring into the next, leaving me with a nagging emptiness.
The white walls offer no comfort, the harsh fluorescent lights dulling my senses. The deflated foam mattress has left me on the hard plastic surface of the bed frame, a cruel reminder of constant suffering. I can’t endure another night in this depressing cesspool of a recovery hospital, surrounded by people prying into my feelings, pushing me to talk when I’m not ready.
With a grunt, I swing what’s left of my legs over the side. The coolness of the metal rail soothes the ache in my upper thigh, sharpening my focus.
In the days following the mission, I was sent to Germany, where the finality of Brandon’s death hit me like a freight train. In my heart, I had already known, but that didn’t stop the flicker of hope that it could still all be a nightmare, that I might wake up to find it untrue. The mission, Brandon, my sister Reilynn —they all swirl together in my mind, vivid and haunting.
I remember the chaos, the sound of gunfire echoing in my ears, and the frantic shouts that filled the air.
Getting to the chopper, watching Brandon throw himself over Rei to shield her. His body absorbing each bullet aimed at her, a debt I can never repay. His life slipping away, the silent questions in his eyes piercing me, leaving me to wonder if any of it was real.
Why? Why did this happen? I ask myself in vain, desperation clawing at my insides. Each night I wake, terror grips me as I relive the day, the suffocating fear that I might die out there, fighting through pain for the ones I love. My wife, our children—how much time have I wasted? I lie awake, hoping that the next time I close my eyes, I’ll wake up in a different world. A worldwhere Brandon walks back in, his smile lighting up the room, joking about my injuries, laughing like the day we first met.
I lie back down, seeking solace in the darkness, praying for answers in my dreams. Why did this happen? Why did he have to sacrifice everything? Why did I survive? The questions swirl endlessly, echoing in the silence of my hospital room, but no answers come. Just the weight of my grief, heavy and suffocating, pressing down until I feel like I might drown in it.
I close my eyes, trying to drown out the sterile sounds of the hospital, but the cacophony of memories refuses to fade. Each one is a reminder of what I’ve lost, and I can’t escape the regret that clings to me like a second skin.
Brandon wasn’t just my best friend; he was my brother, my confidant. We had shared dreams and secrets, the kind that bind souls together.
