by Bryan Wood
Unspoken
Abandonment
by
Bryan A. Wood
Copyright © 2011 Bryan A. Wood
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
‘Unspoken Abandonment’ is based on actual events, but certain aspects have been fictionalized for formatting into written form and protecting the identity of others. Names, dates, locations, and other identifying information have been changed.
For additional information about the author, visit:
www.BryanWoodBooks.com
“Life is full of influences, it’s your application that sets you apart. That’s something I wrote to myself and completely believe in. You can’t be scared to set out to do something in life because you believe it may be similar to something, or because you don’t know the clear cut path on how you’re going to accomplish your goal or dream! Just take a step towards your belief daily – fearlessly, wholeheartedly, digging and dreaming within yourself, believing that as you push on through sacrifice, you will one day stand alone on top of a hill that you created that now encourages and inspires others to chase their dream. Knowing that through tenacity and patience anything can be achieved. If you simply believe. ”
-Charles “Mask” Lewis
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1 – On Patrol
Chapter 2 – The Journal
Chapter 3 – Welcome Back
Chapter 4 – A New Reality
Chapter 5 – Falling Apart
Chapter 6 – Finding Peace
Acknowledgements
January 24, 2011 is a day that will be a part of me forever. Sergeant Thomas Baitinger and K9 Officer Jeffery Yazlowitz, you will always be in my heart, and you will never be forgotten. Tom, you will forever be my friend and my hero.
I would never be where I am today without the love and support of my wonderful parents. They have enjoyed me at the best of times, stayed beside me during the worst of times, and let me find my own way when I needed it the most. I will forever be in their debt.
To my wonderful Abier: I love you, and you make my sun shine on even the cloudiest day. You are everything to me, and you are always there for me when I need you the most. You are my world.
Chapter 1 – On Patrol
The sky is a brilliant shade of blue, without the trace of a single cloud. I am just sitting back in the late afternoon sun, and I am relaxing as I feel its rays gently warm my face. The cooling breeze prevents me from becoming too warm, and the moment is perfect. I look up and see an even more beautiful sight.
I cannot see her features, only her profile cast by the sun as it slowly dips towards the horizon. Her long, chestnut-brown hair flows behind her as she playfully chases the young child in front of her. She looks towards me and offers a smile that still melts me to my soul. She stops playing with the child and stares at me for a moment. Running her fingers through her hair, she looks at me in a way that any other man would envy; it was a look of complete love.
“Mommy, keep playing!” the child cries out. The young five-year-old girl then looks to me and asks, “Daddy, are you going to play now?”
Without a response, I get up and run towards her. I grab her in my arms as she leaps up at me. She says, “Daddy, it’s coming loose again. Will you fix it for me?”
I carry her to a nearby picnic table and set her down. That is when this feeling struck me; I am happy. I am truly, honestly, and completely happy. Sure, I wish I had more money, I wish that all weekends were three days long, and I still want a bigger television; however, what I have, right here and right now, is a complete and absolute peace of mind.
It was not always this way. I will come back to this moment and pick up right here again, but before I do, there is something I need to explain. I was once very far from where I am today. There was a part of me which had been taken, and I feared it was gone forever. It has been a long and difficult journey for me, but I am every bit the stronger for having endured it.
I remember a time in life when I felt like I could conquer the world. I felt as though I was unstoppable. The truth, however, is that I was just a naïve kid that didn’t know his ass from his elbow, but at the time, I honestly thought I had it all figured out. I was fun, quick-witted, and I had a brilliant smile and blue eyes that have earned me compliments my entire life. I had seen neither poverty nor suffering in my life, though I thought I had, but I soon would.
Life is very easy for some and very difficult for others. Regardless of which side you fall on, one thing is for certain: you will face challenges in your life, and it is how you face and overcome these challenges that will ultimately define you as a person. What I am about to share is the story of my greatest challenge.
I am not exactly sure where to begin, so I will start on a balmy, summer night in central Florida. The sun had already gone down, but the temperature was still above ninety degrees. I was driving, with the windows opened, feeling the summer air blow in and hearing the sounds of a busy city street. The car in front of me was an older model, maroon four-door, and I had been following it for a few minutes. I saw the car blow right through the red light as it was turning northbound on 102nd Street from Lexington Avenue. I figured that this was the safest place to stop the vehicle, so I reached up, turned on my over head lights, and hit the siren for a few short blasts. The car started to pull to the side of the road, and I reached for my microphone.
“Four Six Lima, going out on a traffic stop,” I said with a sense of certainty into the microphone.
The dispatcher responded quickly, “Four Six Lima, go ahead.”
“It’s going to be a Florida license plate, on an older maroon sedan, and we will be in front of the car wash on 102nd.”
“The car wash on 102nd, ten-four. Request a second unit?” the dispatcher asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
My right hand was resting cautiously on the grip of my gun as I approached the driver. I was walking very slowly, struggling to see through the dark tinted windows, and I was hoping for a glimpse of who was inside the car. As I arrived at the driver's window, the tinted glass came down, and I could see a middle-aged woman alone in the vehicle. I did not see anything unusual or suspicious, so I asked the driver for her license and registration.
She nervously asked, “Did I do something wrong, sir?”
“As soon as I have your driver's license and registration, I will explain everything to you.”
She kindly obliged, and I told her, “When you were traveling eastbound on Lexington Avenue and made the turn onto 102nd Street, you went right through that red light. Try to relax for a few minutes, and I'll have you on your way. I do like that you’re wearing your seatbelt, so if everything checks out, I don’t think there will be a need for a ticket.”
I began walking back to my car, and as the blue strobe lights were flashing in my face, I could feel a strange sensation coming over me. It was not the first time; in fact, it had happened several times before. The prior occurrences gave me a warning of what was to come next. I turned back to the vehicle and gave the driver her license and registration.
“Here you are ma’am. You’re free to go.” I quickly said.
As I felt myself beginning to sweat, I hurried back to my police cruiser with each breath becoming more rapid. I drove into the nearest parking lot, and I began to have my latest panic attack.
I sat alone in my police car with the windows rolled up and the air conditioning on the maximum setting. I had a feeling of fear and terror rushing through my body as I struggled for air. A simple breath was not so simp
le anymore. The feeling lasted for only a short time, but it seemed to last forever.
After a few minutes, I was able to regain my composure. I was drenched in sweat, and I tried to relax for a moment as I worked to collect my thoughts. I reflected on the incident, and it made no sense to me. I was not scared during the traffic stop, I was not threatened in the least by the driver, and it is something I routinely do every day. So, why today, why right now, and why all the other times this has happened before?
The attack eventually ended, and I went back about my night handling the random calls that came in and doing the occasional traffic stop. The remainder of that shift was uneventful and otherwise unremarkable.
After my shift, I turned in my police cruiser and walked to my personal vehicle. During the thirty-five minute drive home, I repeatedly thought about the panic attack from earlier in my shift. I knew it was nothing which I could control, but it made me feel like I was either weak or as though there was something wrong with me. I knew then, as I still do now, that those ideas were not true, but it was a difficult feeling to shake.
I arrived home just a little past one-thirty in the morning. I opened the refrigerator, hoping to find dinner, but there was nothing prepared. I very rarely came home to a cooked meal; instead, it was usually a frozen dinner or a drive-through on the way from work. I had a quick snack, I took a shower, and then I slid into bed absolutely exhausted.
I tried desperately to sleep that night, but I just couldn't. I had already experienced multiple panic attacks by that point in time, but that most recent one was really bothering me.
The attacks occurred very infrequently in the beginning, maybe once a month or less. Eventually, they progressed to what seemed like a once per week event. They were always set off for no apparent reason; they just appeared.
“Why is this happening to me? Why me?” I asked myself so many times.
Panic attacks were not my only worry. I was going to work and walking through life pretending that I was fine. I worked hard not to show the truth, and I honestly thought no one could see what was just beneath my surface. I looked to everyone around me, praying that someone would see the truth and call me out on it. However, I did too well of a job pretending to be whole, even when I knew I was being torn to pieces on the inside.
It was about four o’clock in the morning, and I still could not sleep. Like so many other nights, I was laying awake and looking at the ceiling. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I was watching the ceiling fan, almost hypnotized by its repetitive movement. This position was nothing new to me, and I decided to take one of the pills my doctor had prescribed to help me sleep.
I made my way to the kitchen and opened the medicine bottle, dropping two pills into the damp palm of my hand. I sat for a minute or two and just stared at the pills. My mind was racing off in its own direction. I do not know if it was anxiety, frustration, or something else that hit me at that moment, but I realized I had had enough. I was not going to live like this anymore, and this needed to stop. This was the very moment I decided to take control and get my life back. It was an epiphanic moment which I will never forget.
I had recently had a talk with a friend who had given me what would ultimately be the advice I needed to move forward, and it was the advice I needed to put this portion of my life behind me for good. I had been given this almost-magical advice, but I had no idea how to even begin to use it. At that very moment, as I stared at those two pills, the answer came to me, and I knew exactly where to begin.
I walked from my kitchen to the garage, and I flipped a switch, bringing life to the flickering overhead, fluorescent light. The garage was nearly silent with the gentle hum of the light’s power supply being the only sound.
Sitting in the corner, under a pile of typical garage clutter, was a very plain, nondescript, black footlocker. There was no padlock on it or anything to identify what was inside; however, as I looked at it I knew that within this box was the heart of my fears. I had not opened the box once since I packed it three years earlier. I packed its contents and closed it, for what I thought would be forever. It turned out that it would not be forever, and the time had come to open it once again.
I dragged the footlocker to the center of the garage, and I knelt down next to it. My hands trembled as I slowly unclasped the latches and began to open the creaking lid.
As I opened the box, I could instantly smell an odor that I had all but forgotten. It was a ripe smell that is nearly impossible to describe: a mixture of pollution, filth, and garbage. I found it amazing that, even after three years, the interior still smelled like the air so many thousands of miles away. I have since shown the footlocker to others, but no one else can detect the odor I smell when I see the contents inside. It still does not make sense to me how I can smell something no one else can, merely by looking at the contents inside of an old box.
The box was littered with random trinkets and war mementos. I barely remembered packing any of this at all. How could all of this have faded from my memory? I began rifling through the contents and found a tattered burqa, Afghan money, and other odd items. I was wondering why I even bothered to save this stuff, when suddenly, I saw something that instantly caused my heart to skip a beat and fall into the pit of my stomach. I found exactly what I was looking for; it was a simple, black and white, hard-covered composition notebook with the single word “Journal” handwritten on the cover. This was the journal I had kept while I was in Afghanistan.
I removed the journal from the footlocker and held it in my hands. Part of me wanted to throw the book back into the footlocker and let it stay there, but I knew that in order for me to take the first step toward putting my life back together, I needed to open that book and read every word sandwiched between its cardboard cover. The latter thought won the struggle, and a knot developed in my throat as I opened the cover and began to read the first page.
I sat on the cold cement floor of my garage, reading the journal that felt like it had been written a lifetime ago. The night passed by as I read, and the morning’s rising sun brought with it a life changing journey. I want to share with you that journey and how I arrived at that moment, and it all begins with that journal.
Chapter 2 – The Journal
Just a day or two before I left for Afghanistan, I visited a local supermarket to get some items I thought I may need over the coming weeks. I decided to stock up on toothbrushes, deodorant, toothpaste, and other such products to get me through the days until my first care packages would begin arriving. I also got some comfort items, such as candy and magazines, to make the same period of time more tolerable.
I was in the stationary section, looking for paper and envelopes to use for writing letters, when I saw a black and white composition notebook. I knew I was embarking on something incredible, and as I saw that notebook I thought to myself, “Wouldn’t that be something to keep a running journal to remember this adventure forever?”
I purchased the notebook, and I did write just such a journal. However, what started out as something to be remembered forever eventually became something I could never forget. Here is my journal, word for word, exactly as it was originally written:
February 22, 2003:
We were on the plane coming into Bagram, Afghanistan, when the pilot announced we were fifteen minutes out. Thirteen hours earlier, we were yelling and excited, but now not a single word was being spoken on the same plane. I initially thought everyone around me was simply tired, even though I was wide awake. We were in the back of a C-17 transport plane, with our seatbacks against the wall, and I could see everyone else was awake also. Although no one mentioned it, I think we were all very afraid. We were afraid of the known and even more afraid of the unknown. All of our briefings to this point told us we were just minutes away from stepping foot in a country filled with landmines, a hostile and motivated enemy, an unwelcoming civilian population, and a long uphill battle. All I could think was, “Holy shit, what have I gotten myself into?”
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The plane landed fine, but the landing was very unique. All of the lights were turned off on the aircraft, and even the runway was blacked out with no lights at all. A sniper only needs to see the slightest movement to identify you as a target, and the only advantage we would have on a wide open airfield would be to remain under the cover of darkness. The pitch black night was somewhat comforting in that aspect.
After offloading from the plane, we each had to carry all of our gear and equipment by hand as we were led off in a single file line. We walked for a little more than a mile, in complete silence and darkness, until we reached Bagram’s temporary barracks. We were told to drop our gear, pick a rack, and get some sleep. The room was cold, dirty, and had a horrible stench. The “bed” was little more than a thin foam mat laid over a piece of plywood on the floor. I already wanted to go home, but I know I have a job to do first. Despite the cold, the smell, and the discomfort, I fell asleep faster than I ever have before.
February 23, 2003:
We got our wakeup at approximately five o’clock in the morning, local time. We hadn’t hit our racks more than four hours earlier, so it was not exactly a great night’s sleep. After we ate breakfast, we were all guided to another area of Bagram Air Base. This was my first look at Afghanistan.
It was a beautiful day, but the area was very dirty, old, and quite worn. The buildings on the base were battered and showed the signs of years of war. We were instructed to stay on the roadways because of the incredibly high number of landmines left behind by the Soviets during their withdrawal from the country. We were told the landmines were very old and deteriorated but still had the ability to kill and seriously maim. My legs have done well by me so far in life, and I intend to hang on to them just a little longer.
After breakfast, I still had no idea where I was going or what I would be doing in Afghanistan. My unit was told essentially nothing. It was broad daylight, but we were still in the dark. All of the gear we had carried off from the plane was still stored in the temporary barrack from the previous night. We were instructed to gather up our gear and be ready for transport trucks which were en route to get us. Once we got to the barrack, two 5-ton trucks were waiting for us. We loaded our gear into the back, and then we stood by waiting for our “security escort.”
