Memorial Day

This is a bit late; by the time it gets posted everyone will be well into their barbecues, beach trips, motorcycle rides, and everything else we do to celebrate a long weekend. Of course not much changes here since the animals are all unimpressed with holidays, but that’s a different topic. Regardless of how you spend it, Memorial Day is the day we’re supposed to honor veterans who have lost their lives in service to the country.

Today I’ll remember several Marines I served with. But I’ll only mention one. George Torres. And I didn’t know him very well. He checked into Bravo Company 1st Battalion, 5th Marines shortly after we returned from Iraq in 2003 and during our preparation to return in 2004. He was a Private First Class, straight out of boot camp and became a member of 3rd Platoon. We didn’t have much time to prepare before we were back in Iraq and got there just in time for the Battle of Fallujah in April 2004.

Torres, while smaller than most of the Marines, had a large personality. He was 22 when he joined us which made him an “old man” amongst the mostly 17 and 18 year old PFCs. He was from Long Beach CA and was the son of Mexican immigrants. He had dropped out of High School and had a little more life experience than a lot of the other Marines who joined straight from High School. I remember his nickname in the platoon was “Rooster” because he was small in stature but ready to stand up to anyone, especially if he felt someone was doing something wrong. I never saw him afraid of anything or anyone and he carried himself with all the confidence in the world, so the nickname stuck.

He was killed in Fallujah on April 11, 2004 just 23 years old at the time. When we returned to the US later that year, we held a memorial service for him and the other Marines we lost. His parents were there and we met, but the language barrier prevented me from really knowing how they felt about the service. It was several months after they had already had his funeral and so I always wondered if our memorial service was helpful to them. We also had collected from his platoon mates their written memories of him and so we presented them to his parents. I’ve wondered if they gave his parents any comfort and if they’ve ever been read in the years since

It’s been sixteen years since then. Torres would be approaching 40 years old. I wonder what he would have done with those sixteen years. Maybe he would have stayed in the Marine Corps. Maybe he would have gone off and done something remarkable, or had a family, or made a difference to someone, I don’t know how his family has managed his absence or how they’ve spent the last sixteen years. And I don’t know if it’s helpful to remember in general those that have lost their lives in service. But if you’re reading this, you can remember at least one.