911

Interesting how 9/11 is “911.” Emergency, the State of the Union, September 11, 2001.

Today brings back a lot of memories, I’m sure it does for all of us. We live in such a peaceful time, here in the United States, that when I picked Simon up from school today I didn’t even know why the flag was at half mast. (peaceful or I live with my head in the sand? Thanks again for the 411, Minky!) The sun is shining beautifully on the Rockies, and I can hear kids playing outside. It is because of this that I wanted to post a memory today.

On February 22, 2006 a dear friend of ours was killed in Iraq. We were, to say the least, shocked. I remember telling Peter on the phone, he was back East for work. He asked me several times if I was kidding, then said he had to go and hung up. The shock and sadness that we felt wasn’t even measurable compared to that of his own family. Many of you have heard me talk about Greg before, we all loved him dearly. But today, I wanted to remember how I felt during these sad weeks. I want to remember because if we forget why our soldiers are there, all of this freedom we have here is in vain.







I had the honor of making the program and remembrance book, hence all the photos. For three days I did nothing but gaze into his eyes. I happened to be listening to a new CD at the time, and I cannot hear that without thinking of him, and his beautiful family. There aren’t that many things in my life that I can recall clear as day in my mind. My wedding day, the births of my children. But I can replay the long drive to the airport cargo area, where we met his with his family. Ruby was four months old, a couple of weeks older than his youngest. She came with me, Peter was gone again, and the comfort of an infants soul, I found very welcoming.

I can still see his beautiful casket being rolled out of the hanger, for the family to see before it was taken in the hearse. His brother, also in the military, had accompanied his body home. I can see the other soldiers faces to this day. And the very personal emotions of his wife and parents. After a beautiful service the next day, we followed them to the cemetery. Boy Scouts were everywhere along the route, waving their flags, mile after mile. In fact there were so many flags that day, in my memory, that I have never seen one so beautiful again.

There are so very many more personal memories. Of seeing his children, wife, parents and siblings. There are not many times in my life I find myself “speechless.” But there truly are no words to say thank you to him, or them.


I am re-posting something that Peter wrote at the time:

I Know a Family of Heroes
This last Wednesday, February 22nd, 2006 a dear friend of ours was killed while on patrol in Iraq. His vehicle was attacked with an improvised explosive device and all four soldiers inside, including Greg, were killed. The tough part is that Greg leaves 3 boys (ages 10, 5, 3) and a baby girl of 3 months. Luckily, Greg was able to bless his daughter and be with his family just a short time ago before deploying to catch-up with his men. Greg—he could serve his family, serve the Lord and serve his country, all in one stride. Greg was a righteous husband and father, a priesthood holder who loved the Lord, and a man truly like unto Moroni.
As I look at pictures of his little family (who live outside of Ft. Campbell, KY), it hurts to imagine the things his sons will miss. I’d bet that like most boys, their dad is their hero. In the end, this is their price that contributes to our way of life, and it is their suffering that affords me the ignorance that freedom allows.
Regardless of political views and whether or not you feel we should be in Iraq, I wanted you to know about Gregson G. Gourley. Greg willingly made the choice to risk giving up that little family, or should I say, risk having them give him up, to accomplish something that for the most part won’t ever be seen or understood by us. This was his second tour in Iraq, his third trip to the gulf and he was 38 years old – a man who knew what he was getting into. More than the young kids that chase dreams, it’s guys like Greg that really make me think about the things I take for granted. I’m so grateful that someone is willing to step forward and echo the words of the greatest leader of all, “Here am I, send me.”
In preparing for Greg’s funeral, we came across a letter he wrote near the end of his LDS mission in Pennsylvania, in which he remarked, “It’s a real strange feeling coming home, my emotions and feelings are so mixed. My mind wants to go, my heart wants to stay.” I can only think that similar thoughts and emotions have surfaced on this, his real journey home.
So thank you, Greg. The world will never know the meaning of your sacrifice, and I suspect that’s why you made it, ultimately. That your children, our children and all of us will never have to know what frightening sum events might total if you hadn’t been there, with the long line of those before you and those that will undoubtedly go after. I hope and pray that I may not only bless my own family, but somehow, some way in the future, I will find a way to bless yours, Greg, that they may know a little less the gap that is left from losing their friend, husband and Daddy.