NOLAN, the story of my broken heart.

Last year I made reference of a dear friend who died tragically during Basic Training and a few readers wondered about it but compassionately refrained from pressing for answers.  They knew I would share the story when I was ready.  I am ready now.  I am hoping that by writing this I will be able to find some kind of acceptance and closure.

Nolan was the son of our very close friends.  We shared many hunting trips and blackpowder campouts together.  Nolan was the big brother Gabe never had but always wanted.  The other children looked up to him as an older brother as well.  And he was like a son to my husband and I.  He joined the Army Reserve and was already attending drills when he left for Boot Camp.  He was so excited.  His father had served in the military, and many of their friends still did.  He was going to join their ranks.

His father kept us updated on his progress.  Somehow there was a mix-up and he ended up spending more than the usual time in Reception holding.  During that time he had suffered a severe sunburn, so bad that his freshly shaven head was swollen.  We didn't think too much of it at the time since he had been to the clinic to get treatment, but he would never be the same after that.

When Nolan finally started his training, naturally his communication with his family became limited.  But as the time wore on, these communications became disturbing.  He was obviously stressed out from the rigorous training, and at first it was just attributed to having to adjust to the severe discipline, the mental and physical requirements placed on the recruits.  His father would call us after the phone calls and the uneasiness and concern in his voice grew with each call.  Change was expected in one's personality, but Nolan was changing dramatically into someone that was not even a shadow of the mature and eager young man who had left for boot camp less than a month ago.

I remember one night in particular.  We were sitting upstairs watching TV when our friend called.  He said his son had just called.  He had sounded confused and was stuttering, which wasn't normal.  He had been placed on Unit Watch, his boot laces and belt had beenconfiscated. He couldn't sleep, he wasn't drinking water because he was having control issues.  He was seeing the Chaplain and a social worker for having suicidal thoughts.  He had apologized to his father for letting him down.  There was no sign of his normal self confidence.

I was crying openly the whole time, saying over and over again... 'get him to the emergency room!'  My husband told our friend to contact the Red Cross and have them intervene.

They did.  The recruit was taken to the emergency room and tested.  The tests were inconclusive but it was determined that he was not dehydrated.  He was returned to his unit.  At that point the military determined that he was just trying to get out of fulfilling his basic training commitment but was becoming a danger to himself and those in his unit.  The decision was made to release him, but the process would take a couple of weeks.  My friend spoke to his son after the unit called on his behalf.  Again Nolan apologized.  At this end, hundreds of miles away, we agonized that the ordeal would be dragged out for another two weeks.  We just wanted him back safe with us.

It was only a couple of days later but it seemed like a lifetime.  I came home for lunch, knowing that my husband who had only just recently returned from duty in Korea would be there.  The carpet cleaner stood in the middle of the livingroom where he had been working but stopped for some reason.  Shrugging, I went down stairs to watch the news.  He came in the front door a few minutes later and I went up to meet him.  I was still getting used to having him back after the 2 year separation... but he didn't return my happy greeting.  He just took me in his arms and hugged me.  I remember feeling his body shaking, and thinking... this isn't right, something isn't right.

'Nolan is dead.'

I stepped back, so sure I had heard wrong but the tears streaming from his face confirmed that I had not.  I don't remember much more.  But I remember learning how it felt to have my heart ripped from my body.  I cried harder then I have ever cried in my life.  I hurt more than I ever knew was possible.

Telling the children was probably the hardest thing I've ever done.  How do you comfort 5 heartbroken children when you can't even comfort your own grieving heart?  How do you explain that which you can't even comprehend? What do you tell them when they ask 'Why did he kill himself?  Didn't he love us any more?" 

And that was the hardest to understand.  Nolan loved life.  He loved the military.  He loved his Reserve Unit.  He was an avid shooter and outdoorsman.  He was used to roughing it.  He wasn't some overly protected young man who suddenly realized that he had bit off more than he could chew during basic training.  He had asked for help.  He had been denied.

Steve flew to Fort Leonard Wood to bring Nolan home.  Nolan's ashes were scattered over the land that he loved.  My husband and son hung an eagle feather high in a pine tree over looking the area in his honor. 

A make-believe investigation was conducted.  Death was ruled as a suicide.  I call it an assisted suicide.  There are even whispers of homicide, but those are quickly hushed.  There are so many questions that have never been answered.  There were so many warning signs that were ignored by his chain of command, obvious signs.  Nobody took his condition seriously.  When his buddies went to the Drill Sgt. to voice their concerns, it only resulted in public humiliation infront of the platoon.  His cry for help was heard but never acknowledged, only mocked.  If anything, it increase the mental punishment that was placed upon him, until he could not take it any more.

There are many questions regarding the circumstances of his death.  If it had not been a death on military property it probably would have resulted in an indepth investigation.  So many clues, so many mysteries, so many questions but no answers forth coming.  Am I still in denial?  Yes, I probably am.  Do I have grounds to doubt?  Yes, I do believe I do.  But my doubts are in the jurisdiction of the military which means they will probably remain unanswered.

So, imagine my dismay when my oldest son announced his decision to join the Army.  I had actually encouraged him, saying that it would do him good, but once the reality of him going through the same training Nolan did before he ended his life sank in, old wounds were reopened and created fresh fears.  What if Gabe stumbled like his friend did?  What if the same thing happened?  What if he had to deal with the same uncaring and incompetent people?  When I voiced my fears, people tried to comfort me by assuring me that Gabe would never do something like that.  Neither would Nolan.

Gabe had his moments, but his memory of Nolan kept him driving on.  When he saw fellow soldiers falter and show signs of weakness, he would step in and help them out.  He encouraged the weary, he patiently tutored the slow.  He persisted with his own demons and obstacles.  I don't waste too much time on 'coulda, shoulda, wouldas' or 'if onlys', but boy, but I wish Gabe could have been there with Nolan, for Nolan.  As fate would have it, he could not be there.  But he was there for his fellow recuits, and that was just as important.  Fate served the new recruits through Gabe's memory of his friend and his fate.

The sad anniversary of Nolan's death will soon be upon me.  I rarely sleep during the month of August.  And now I must also deal with the knowledge that my son will soon be placed in harms way to secure a distant country for its people, from its people.  I am filled with both pride and fear.  There is a little shadowy corner in my mind that I dance around and refuse to peek into for fear of what I might see.  I can't allow those thoughts.  An online friend recently went through the unthinkable and her grief only increased my own fears.  I have felt the heartbreak of the loss of one very dear young man who was as close to my heart as my own son.  That is more than enough pain for a lifetime.  This will be a difficult month for me to get through, I often have to force the smiles during this time, and the end of the month, the 29th... is always the hardest. 

I refuse to ask my son for his deployment date, but my heart sences its approach.  One day at a time.

Here is an article written about the life and death of Nolan.  I still have not been able to read it in its entirety.  I found some of its graphic descriptions too much to bear.  Sometimes ignorance really is bliss, or at the very least, the lessor of two evils.

5280 Magazine - June/July 2004 - Private Stites Should Have Been Saved