“Private Rogers!” roared the drill sergeant.
“Present!” Rogers stood in the back of the auditorium with several others, all lined up in uniform.
“Private Jackson!”
Another man yelled, “Present!” Most of the civilian crowd was watching each of them, twisted backwards in their seats.
“Private Michaelson!”
“Present!” I wondered how they kept their voices so steady.
“Present!” I wondered how they kept their voices so steady.
“Lt. Daniels!”
“Present!” Some people were looking forward now. Some staring at their hands in their laps.
“Lt. Feeback!”
“Present!” This uniformed man stood from his seat among the civilians.
“Private Jacobs!”
“Present!” He, also, stood up from the crowd.
“Private Madrazo!”
A young man in the very front row stood and yelled, “Present!” I wondered where his eyes were looking. Maybe to the stage, which was empty except for a pair of combat boots, a rifle, and a helmet. Maybe at what was directly in front of him.
“Lt. Madrazo!”
Silence. The crowd, I think, was holding its collective breath.
“Lt. Madrazo!” the drill sergeant called again. Not a murmur came in response. “Lieutenant Nicholas Madrazo!” We all stared forward now, waiting for the answer that we knew would never come.
“Lieutenant…Nicholas…Aaron…Madrazo!” He paused between each word, louder than ever, maybe hoping it would help.
When silence still fell everywhere, he took a step. A marine to the right of the stage lifted his horn and began to play Taps. The sergeant, locking his eyes on the casket before him, slowly lifted his hand into a salute. All the men in uniform, still standing, did likewise. And his mother wept the most.
I offer up this writing in honor of my cousin, Nicholas Aaron Madrazo. Three years ago today, he was killed in action with a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. The ceremony which I’ve recalled above occurred at his memorial service; to me, it was so painfully beautiful I had to write it down. For those who were there and share this memory, I apologize if I made any mistakes on the details. I simply wanted to record the memory in Nic’s honor, because I think what the ceremony signifies is incredibly important. Nic died doing exactly what he believed was right. He was devoted to it, completely present, until the very end. Only death could keep him from being so. It was, and is, a beautiful way to mourn and remember our Marine.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Nic was a wonderful man, cherished and missed by many. His family has set up a foundation in his honor to support troops currently in harm’s way as well as veterans and their families. To learn more about Nic’s story, and to find out how you can contribute, visit www.thenamesfoundation.org.
I want to close with a poem by Paul Eluard entitled “Gabriel Peri.” I read it not long after Nic’s passing, and in substituting “Nicholas” for “Peri,” I found it was almost perfect. I submit it with just such a substitution below.
A man has died who had no other shield
than his arms open wide to life.
A man has died who had no other road
than the road where rifles are hated.
A man has died who battles still
against death, against oblivion.
For all the things he wanted
we wanted too.
We want them to-day:
Happiness to be the light
within the heart within the eyes
and justice on earth.
There are words that help us to live
And they are plain words:
The word warmth, the word trust
Love, justice, and the word freedom
The word child and the word kindness
The names of certain flowers and certain fruits
The word courage and the word discover
The word brother and the word comrade
The name of certain lands and villages
The names of women and friends
Now let us add the name of Nicholas.
Nicholas has died for all that gives us life
Let's call him friend, his chest is bullet-torn,
But thanks to him we know each other better
Let's call each other friend, his hope lives on.
Semper Fi, Nic. I love you, and I praise God for the day when we will see you again.
Beautifully written Heather
ReplyDeleteI only knew one warrior killed in action since 911. It was September of 2007, 1st Lt Madrazo and I were on an exercise in Korea, UFL. We got to know each other on a casual basis because we were both assigned to the night shift in the battle cabin. When we got back from Korea a few weeks later, he was assigned as one of the battalion safety officers at 3rd MLG on Okinawa, so we had business dealings that way. I was a Navy Lieutenant Commander (O-4), Major equivalent in the Marine Corps, and Nic a 1st Lt (O-2). For reasons of rank and file and since I was nearly twice his age, we weren’t exactly best pals. But Nic was a memorable fellow and struck me as one hell of a nice guy. I will always remember the last time I saw him. We happened to be having lunch in the food court at the Camp Kinser PX so we shared a table and ate Subway. We chatted about Washington, I spent 2.5 years in Everett onboard USS Abraham Lincoln, and how he was going to get married and how pumped he was to be going on deployment to Afghanistan. He was in the process of checking out for an IA and was all charged up to be going “where the action is”. He had volunteered to go because he felt he wasn’t doing much to make a difference in Okinawa. The war was “over there”. The very last words I said to him were something along the lines of "hey bud, keep your head down and come back safe". I fully expected that he would come back safe. After all, “other people” get killed or wounded. Time passed and I really never had a second thought about 1st Lt Madrazo. Then, I heard about it in my office on Camp Kinser. There was going to be memorial service for 1st Lt Madrazo in the Kinser chapel. I was stunned. "For who!?” I said. "Yea, Lt Madrazo was KIA, IED, big one I heard." was roughly the reply. Shaken up by the news, I just sat at my desk staring out the window for a while remembering our lunch at the Subway. Years had passed since 911 and nothing had ever really touched me. It finally happened. Someone I knew, had conversations with, broke bread with, was dead thousands of miles away. It was surreal. As cliché as it sounds, Nic really was one of those fresh faced, all American boys, a "clean Marine" that no one had a single negative thing to say about. He was the last person I expected to die young and it hit me how unfair it all was. I decided to attend the memorial service but at the last minute, chickened out. Being something of a coward myself, I decided it was too close for my own comfort. Plus, not being a Marine, I might not be welcome at such a solemn gathering. Those were good enough excuses so I skipped it. I still regret skipping it. War is horrible. It’s also weird. You never know when it will touch you or just how. Here I am, going on 4 years later, retired, trying to remember "that kid's" name, the young Marine officer I chatted with over sandwiches. "M- Something." "What was his name???" I had to Google him. Why now? A young man in my office, who reminds me a lot of Nic Madrazo, is thinking about signing up in the reserves. So I had to tell him my "Nic story". Not to scare him away from uniformed service, but to illustrate the true nature of this mess, this "long war" we are stuck in. No one in uniform is immune, be it reserve or active duty, no matter what MOS or career specialty. IEDs and the extremists who plant them do not discriminate. The guy in my office has a wife and baby boy at home. My belief is that Nic would have too if not for his dedication to God, country, Corps and mission. “Be careful what you ask for”, I tell the young man in my office. I feel sorrow and sadness, again, that Nic is no longer with us. I swear not to forget his name ever again.
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