I caught a glimpse of the man up on the road. I thought nothing of it. I actually thought he was taking pictures. I could see there was a pickup by the mailbox, black I think. The man was wearing a tan shirt and it looked like he was wearing glasses. I thought it was some type of survey crew. 

I was home at lunch. I had just gotten done working out. I always let the dogs out while I am drinking my recovery smoothie. Jack came back. Buddy did not. That was not unusual. Lately he has been staying out longer than usual. Lately he has been going up to the front of the house, by the mailbox. Lately he hasn’t been able to hear well. 

We live out in the country on the highway. The traffic is pretty heavy and the speed limit is 65 by our house. 

About six months ago, we were told there was some problem with Buddy. Something neurological. His limbs didn’t work the way they should, so he trips sometimes when he tries to go up steps. He was taking Prednisone for his medical condition. He has been getting worse lately. I think he has been getting lost and we know his hearing had gone way down hill. 

We got Buddy from the local humane society. He was the “Pet of the Week” about 8 years ago. He was two at the time. His name was Rusty then. He was a little Jack Russell mix. They said he was a runner. When we got him home, he constantly took off running. Until one day, John yelled at him. I mean really yelled. Buddy came running back and stood right beside him. From that day on, he never ran again. We could leave him in the house all day. He never got into anything and never had any accidents. He was the perfect dog. The perfect companion. Such a good boy. It took him a while to let us get close to him. If we did, he would growl. After a while he completely trusted us. We could lay our faces on his and he would be perfectly content. He trusted us and we trusted him. 

After I changed clothes I came back downstairs and was expecting to see Buddy at the door on the deck. He wasn’t there. I thought it was weird. I went out looking for him. He wasn’t anywhere in the back. I started getting a feeling. I knew something wasn’t right. Something was wrong. I kept yelling and yelling for him. 

As I was coming up to the front of the house, I saw a vehicle pull away. I thought to myself it must have been the guy I saw earlier up on the road. I walked a little further up the driveway and saw Buddly lying on the side of the road, on the shoulder. I walked over. His mouth was bloody, but otherwise he just looked like he was sleeping. He moved his head a couple of times, which made it worse. I’m pretty sure those were his last breaths. I was sick to my stomach. I felt like he wouldn’t have been coming across the road if I hadn’t been yelling for him. I felt terrible. I don’t know if that is true or if he could even hear me. But, it’s my guilt. Mine. Poor Buddy. I wasn’t sure what to do. John was out of town working, so I texted Rick, his boss. Little did I know that Rick was out of town too. So here I am standing up on the highway, tears running down my face and a billion cars flying by, hoping none of them run over me and Buddy. 

As I was standing up on the highway I got a call from Chris, my business partner. She asked if the dogs were okay, because her son had called her. He wondered if we had dogs because he said a dog had gotten hit by our house. He was very upset. I told Chris Buddy had gotten hit. 

I then got a call from the Animal Clinic. They told me the person who hit Buddy had been trying to get a hold of us. We disconnected our landline phone and that is the number on Buddy’s tags. She was very sweet and said she was sorry and said if we needed anything to let them know.  The person who hit Buddy had left a message on John’s phone and he said that Buddy had just come out of the weeds and he was really sorry. We know it wasn’t his fault. We know. I feel so bad for him. 

Next John called, so I told him I couldn’t touch him. He knows I can’t touch dead animals. I just can’t. He was upset that I had to be there by myself. He said he would get one of the guys who was working in town to come and help me. I felt like I waited forever. In reality it was about 30-40 minutes. I stayed up on the highway. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want him to get hit again. I just couldn’t walk away from him until Ryan came. There was already a turkey vulture flying around. I was disgusted. 

It was like everything was in slow motion. That weird queasy kind of feeling. Just slowed down. Suspended. It felt like everything took forever. 

Once Ryan got there I came back to the house and got Buddy’s red plaid blanket that he slept on. We wrapped him up in his blanket and Ryan carried him down the driveway into the garage and gently laid him in the freezer, patted his head and closed the lid. 

Even though I feel like I am tough, today was one of those days that I couldn’t do it by myself. It was one of those days that I couldn’t help but feel vulnerable. It was one of those days that I really needed people. Today, when I needed people the most, they were there. I was so grateful for help today. Thank you Ryan Fischer. 

Rest In Peace Buddy boy…

Cpl. Tyler Cone – February 22, 1988 – February 16, 2014

Cpl. Taylor Hopson – August 28, 1989 – July 19, 2011

Lcpl. Ray A. Spencer –  date of death April 16, 2009 (age 20)

I wanted to do a special Hero WOD for my email list. I asked my son, if he could give me some names of Marines he knew who were killed in action when he was in the Marines. He was in the 3/3 Marines, India Company. He served from 2006-2010. 

He told me none of the ones in his company (that he could remember) were killed in action, but many had committed suicide. He said he didn’t think that was what I was really looking for. But on the contrary, that was exactly what I was looking for. It was exactly what I expected he was going to tell me. My gut told me. I listened. I felt it. 

Veteran suicide is a problem. An epidemic you could say. I knew that was what I wanted to write about on this Memorial Day, 2018. 

A commonality with these guys is that they were super patriotic. Their dream was to become a Marine. It was the same with Spencer. I remember him always wanting to be a Marine. I can remember from the time he was little until he joined, he always talked about it. We tried to talk him out of Infantry. He was determined. He was going to be a Marine and infantry at that. I also remember how patriotic he was. He has always, always been that way. It was stressful when he went to Iraq. He went there twice. I worried all the time. I tried to not think about it. I tried to not think about what they were doing over there. I tried to just put it at the back of mind. It seemed like the time went fast so that was a plus. I’m sure the time did not go fast for any of them. 

When you put faces to those names, it makes it even harder. To think of those families who lost their people, it breaks my heart. I cannot even imagine the pain they go through. I cannot even imagine if that happened to my child. I just can’t. The war at home is a real thing. The suffering. The demons. The trying to fit back in to society when you don’t even know where to start. The wishing you were back over there because that’s the only constant you know. The coming back home and using alcohol or drugs to numb things. The turmoil. The struggle. The hard. 

Last November, I did a Facebook challenge. Every person donated $22 and we donated almost $700 to Mission22. Mission22 is an organization that is united in the war against veteran suicide. The War At Home. They bring awareness to veteran suicide. They also have memorials for veterans and veteran treatment programs. Here is the link to check out their work and donate or buy gear. http://www.mission22.com/#ourcause

If you know a veteran in trouble, help them, talk to them, listen to them, do whatever you can to help them. You will never regret doing that. 

All three were in the 3/3 Marines. Hopson was in Spencer’s platoon and Cone was in his Company. There were more than these three. May they all rest in peace. Semper Fi. 

p.s. I picked the title because the song Rainy Days and Mondays by the Carpenters was playing when I had the idea of writing this blog. It seemed fitting…