For several minutes, my mind bounced back and forth between shock and hysteria. As Paige kept looking at me expectantly to share the details, I would start with “He was the best…” But then that would feel so inadequate. She grabbed my hand, and I would try again. “He was so young…” I started to lose control. Finally I whispered, “He was such an amazing leader…” And I trailed off with my heart in my throat. With a glare, I finally stammered, “If I had been there I would have—” But Paige stopped me from finishing that sentence. I should have been there. All the earlier feelings of worthlessness couldn’t compare to how worthless I felt at that point. That was my soldier in my platoon. How did I get to live and he didn’t? Why am I here in this air-conditioned room with my family out of harm’s way when my friends are over in Afghanistan getting killed? How could I have let this happen? Now there is nothing I can do. I can’t even get out of this bed. I would give anything to change this.
I thought of the last time we saw each other and all of the promises we’d made one another upon our return to the States. We were going to get everyone together and have a big barbecue at someone’s house. Everyone would sit around and reminisce on their war stories as some of the scariest times in our lives, but with comedic relief because we had all made it back. We had planned the whole evening out. We would raise a toast, thanking God and each other for the opportunity to sit on someone’s back porch in the United States with the same number of men who had left for Afghanistan nine months prior. Wives and children would be almost a year older but overjoyed at their reunion with their long-absent loved ones. The kids would show their dads how they learned to throw a strike or perform their solos for the recitals that they had missed, while the younger, single guys played catch or helped toss the performers in the air. It was all so perfectly planned. Now what?
Those memories now faded into a fog of sadness and depression that had a way of making me want to close my eyes and never open them again. Remorse came in the form of nausea I felt in the pit of my stomach for days. The guilt of my survival began to morph into a self-loathing spite that threatened my opportunity to recover. I didn’t deserve it. He did. I was supposed to be the only seriously wounded guy in this platoon. Then two of the best were taken out in the same day. The nightmares and the outbursts were back and worse than ever. Juan’s death frightened me to my core. How many more would there be?
CHAPTER NINEUNDER THE SURFACE
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
—Psalm 34:18
PAIGE
After finally taking Josh’s phone to read the full details, I turned to look at my husband. Josh had stopped talking and was staring blankly into nothing, left only with memories of his friend. I found myself thinking, God, I am not equipped for this! How can I be there for my husband? What could I possibly say to him? What if this is day one of his total demise? What if he quits after this?
In my own confusion, I tried to listen for when Josh felt like talking and then immediately pick up the cue of when to leave him alone. The hours of awkward silence, sobbing, and guarding the door from unsuspecting visitors unearthed a familiar question: When will this end? Out of total exhaustion, Josh finally fell asleep. While he slept, I tried to talk to God. I started and stopped so many prayers, but my thoughts consistently fell short. Even leaning on what I knew about God didn’t make me feel better. “God, Your Word says You are close to the brokenhearted, but I just don’t understand…” Trying again, I started, “God, please just lift the Navarro family and all these guys on this deployment, especially the ones that tried to save him…” Uncontrollable tears flowed from my eyes as I stressed about how these men would continue living. Where would even the slightest glimmer of hope come from now? Juan’s death was bad enough, but for an entire group of people to feel like it was their fault was too heavy. What could be said to change their minds? “He fought the good fight” and “It was just his time” were insulting and unwelcome comments that honestly sounded like bull crap to these guys (and to me). Wandering through the labyrinth of fear, people, the future, and the past, I surprisingly found comfort in Juan himself. Before he left for his fateful mission, God seemed to have spoken to Juan in a way similar to how He’d spoken to Josh before Josh’s incident. By the grace of God, Juan took a moment to
