The love of a child burns brightly through the darkness
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by Matthew Fisk
During the spring of 2004, in the ghetto slum of Sadr City, Iraq, my patrol was ambushed. Eighteen soldiers in four Humvees were matched against several thousand Shi’a militia intent on wiping us from the planet. When we lost two vehicles and a brave man in the first few minutes of fighting we limped into the nearest alley to prepare for what we feared was our last stand. The enemy had us on the ropes, and they knew it. They were aware of our resolve, and knew we would put up one hell of a fight—but they were also counting on another renowned aspect of American culture: our compassion.
The insurgents amassed a great crowd at both ends of the alley. They began to march toward us with women and children in the lead, believing we would hold our fire. Then, once they were upon us, they would capture or kill us. Damn them, but they were mistaken. To this day, all my brain will allow me to remember is pointing my weapon into the crowd, shutting my eyes and pulling the trigger. Aiming was unnecessary.
Another thing the enemy was counting on was that our battalion, located on the east side of the city, would come to our rescue. They did. Those courageous knights mounted vehicles that had only sandbags for armor, and rode through a gauntlet of steel to find us. Several dozen were wounded. Six men died saving my life.
In the years since, I’ve struggled with Post Traumatic Stress and two particular symptoms have plagued me. The first was a general unwillingness to accept the gift of life. I should have died and the naked fact that I continued to draw breath was an affront to the decrees of fate. This ‘survivor’s guilt’ is commonplace. Second, I was terrified of children. I withdrew from everyone when I came home, but I would go out of my way to avoid children. Whereas before I had longed for a son or daughter, now I shrank from even the laughter of a child.
When my light seemed dead and only darkness remained I found my childhood sweetheart—though best friends since the age of eight, we had lost contact with each other in the age before cell phones and the internet. We married within a year and God used her to teach me to love again. The process was actually a little uncomfortable. Imagine feeling nothing for ten years and then all of a sudden feeling everything. I cried for no reason and even had a resurgence of anxiety because I had forgotten how loud feelings could be. Loving someone is scary business.
A year later my daughter was born. I was worried that I would fear her. When I got over that, I was afraid that I would fail her. And then I held her for the first time. Fear soon departed as my heart filled with more love than the world could hold. And I cried and cried.
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