Processing a Soldier's Death

SPC Serpa was stationed in northern Afghanistan along with two NCOs from our unit who were both old enough to be his parents. And naturally, they grew to assume those roles. The female NCO would pester him with motherly advice and was fiercely protective of him. The male NCO would treat him like a man and invite him to gatherings with older soldiers, giving him the opportunity to be respected as a peer.

I thought of these things last night as I looked at a photo posted by the male NCO of the "Camp Mike Spann Cigar Club," with Serpa in the middle of the gathering of older soldiers, trying to look suave and adult-like (even with his baby face--second row, right, in PT jacket). I looked at the photo for a few moments, said something to my wife about it, opened up a bottle of wine, poured a glass, and began to weep. The tears that I had been suppressing for days in order to better care for my soldiers were let loose.

For the benefit of the soldiers reading this post, I will be candid with my own thoughts and feelings with the hope that they will be useful to you as you join me on this journey of grief and, God-willing, hope. Here is what I am feeling and how I am working to process these thoughts and emotions:

1) Anger. I am really angry--like punch a hole in the wall, throw something across the room angry. I am angry at Serpa for not alerting people to his struggle. I am angry at him for reaching out to me on Facebook but not giving me a chance to help him.

I am also angry at the situation.

It is like seeing your friend standing on the ledge of a building, about to jump. You cry out for him to please not jump and just talk with you. He agrees, but as you are running across the roof, he jumps anyway. He gave you a moment of hope, only to dash it entirely. You reach out to grab him before he falls, but the only thing your hand grasps is memories and visions of a future lost.

It is okay to be angry--these situations merit anger. The words used to describe Jesus' grief at the tomb of Lazarus include with them the idea of grief-induced rage. You can rage against brokenness.

At the same time, you must be careful to avoid misplaced anger. When I got in the car yesterday afternoon with my wife and boy to go visit our friends, I was seething. I forced myself to start talking to my wife, to explain to her how I was feeling (as best as I could), and just bring my anger out into the light of day with my wife's help. As a result, I could keep my anger focused on where it needed to be and find a sense of peace for the remainder of our outing.

Finally, I am angry with myself, and that leads to my next feeling...

2) Guilt. I know that I am not responsible for Serpa's death. I know that God is all-powerful and controls matters of life and death. I also know that we are responsible for our own lives. We can influence one another, but we will also be limited in our ability to reach each other's hearts and thoughts and affect each other's choices. We are each responsible for getting the help that we need.

I know all of these things, but how often does cool logic really penetrate our hearts?

I read the dozens of comments that say something along the lines of "I wish he had reached out," and know that he did reach out--he just refused to take my hand. I have answered numerous calls from soldiers, wanting to know how this could have possibly happen, expecting me to know the heart and mind of Serpa. I am the chaplain after all. But I am not God, though, God help me, I sometimes wish I was so that I might have His knowledge and power for cases such as these. His ways are not my ways, and mysterious as they may be, His ways are always best.

Feeling guilt is natural in these times, but you must not allow guilt to swallow up your grief. Guilt is a parasite upon grief, turning the pathways of healing into pathways of poison--destroying you and the memory of the person you grieve and wish to honor. In that way, it is also selfish, because your lost battle buddy deserves your grief, not your self-focused guilt. When you experience the pangs of guilt, remember this: This soldier--this death--deserves your grief. It is about him, not about you.

3) Grief. This is really the central feeling. Anger and guilt are usually coping mechanisms--ways to handle a burden that seems to heavy to carry. This is the feeling that we always want to come back to. It does not condemn others as anger often does, nor does it offer self-condemnation as guilt so often does. It is the true echo of tragedy--the sound the heart makes when it collides with a broken world.

In following the pathway of grief, you can eventually find healing and even hope.

It is in following this pathway that I am given the freedom to mourn Serpa and not myself, to come to terms with what has been lost, and to remember that not all is lost.

I have lost two soldiers in the last thirteen months. I know that some of my soldiers have lost more than they can count. Some of them have tattoos on their arms, back, or chest, honoring their fallen battle buddies. All of them have the tattoos, penned with blood, written upon their hearts. I do as well.

While death seems like the ultimate reality in these brief lives of ours, it is not eternal--it did not exist in the beginning, nor will it exist in the age to come. Along with sin and Satan, death will one day be finally vanquished beneath the feet of Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 15). This is the end goal and purpose of this world, and God only tarries in bringing this about so that more might come to embrace this overarching story line in human history and the One who fulfills, guides, and accomplishes it--Jesus.

This is where the pathway of grief is meant to lead--back to the paradise man lost at the beginning and the brokenness that we now feel in our bones, and the paradise that Christ has won for the future for all who believe in Him. Instead of following the dark pathways of unrestrained anger and guilt and drinking their poison to the dregs, we can follow a Shepherd (John 10). He knows His sheep and they know His voice, and as their Savior and Lord, He guides them beside the quiet waters, in paths of righteousness, and restores their souls (Psalm 23).

Father, restore our souls for the sake of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, help us to fear no evil. Comfort us with your presence and direct our eyes and hearts to the day when we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Come, Lord Jesus, come.