In this time of being single and not really having a path, my usual response would have been to just numb the feelings with drinking, playing video games, or anything else that would spare me five more minutes where I didn’t have to think about consequences of my actions. This time, I remembered what I wanted to do with my life when I was in high school: join the Army. My dad was in the Army, and most of my uncles on both sides of the family had served as well. They had all taken different paths after their time of service, but they spoke of their military careers with such pride. I didn’t have anything like that. I had messed up an opportunity to play baseball in college, an opportunity to get a degree, and a relationship with the only person I have ever really loved. As undisciplined and unmotivated as I was, I couldn’t accept a life of moving back into my mom’s house and hoping I could keep a job. After some coercing, I convinced my then ex-girlfriend to meet up with me, because I had something to tell her. With utmost certainty, I looked Paige in the face and said, “I’ve decided I’m going to join the Army.”
From day one of basic training I felt like I was made for the military—not because I was good at everything, but it was the first thing that ever felt worth all of my effort. The stuff that bothered people about it (no sleep, getting yelled out, meaningless exercise) didn’t bother me. It was so mentally and physically taxing that I couldn’t allow frustration or a bad attitude to overtake me, and I know that’s how I found my calling to leadership.
Now, I was a wounded veteran in an amputee hospital. Honestly, I didn’t care that I was wounded. I could take pain. But I couldn’t stand not being able to serve. I couldn’t stand the fact that I was not over there, protecting my guys. Sometimes I felt absolutely worthless. Would I get the twenty-year career that I had dreamed of? Would I have gotten wounded if my Special Forces career had worked out?
Even with all the mixed emotions, I refuted that last thought quickly. Of course, I wanted the green beret, but had I achieved that, I never would have been part of the best platoon in the United States Army. Even though I was so scared before we deployed, my only comfort was found in the people who sat on that aircraft with me willing to get in harm’s way in Afghanistan. I hate that I can’t be there doing my job, but if it cost me the Earthpig brotherhood, it was not worth it. I am thankful for the paths not taken, because my wife, my purpose, and brothers were not down those roads.
CHAPTER EIGHTTHE PRAYER AND THE NIGHTMARES
And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?
—Esther 4:14
PAIGE
“Mr. President, would you mind if we prayed for you?”
June 28, 2012, I met the president of the United States. The. President. Of. The. United. States. My America, Josh’s America, the America of every amputee on the floor was represented by a single man walking the same halls as us—Barack Obama.
June 28 began as another hot day in Bethesda, except for the first time since we had arrived at Walter Reed, my whole family had to be dressed and ready for an important event. This was a week when Josh’s dad, stepmother, and siblings were able to visit. Cathi and I were both designated as full-time primary caregivers, which meant Cathi was able to stay at Walter Reed with us full-time. Josh’s dad, stepmother, and siblings came every other week. However, this week was different. It was common for us to fill out security clearance paperwork before government officials or high-ranking military came to visit. The forms required us to list potential visitors and their Social Security numbers for background checks. This week’s paperwork required much more detail: Do you stay with the veteran full-time? If not, what state did you travel from? Are you responsible for any children under the age of fifteen? All questions that alluded to someone who outranked any other visitor we had hosted yet.
June 28 was the day President Barack Obama came to walk the hospital. As Cathi, Patrick, Kristie, and I were foraging in our belongings for outfits that didn’t look like pajamas, Josh’s only request was that he wear an Auburn shirt to meet the president. Josh was still very heavily medicated and didn’t make a lot of sense most of the time, but he was adamant about the Auburn shirt because “Barack,” as he confidently called him, needed to know he was an Auburn fan. We already had about ten Auburn posters hanging in the room, but Josh said those weren’t enough. As usual, he was not in a state of mind to be reasoned with, so we got him a medium-sized shirt that fit like a tent on his emaciated frame. No pants necessary. We were ready to meet the commander-in-chief.
As I walked to Josh’s hospital room from the Fisher
