On Saturday, April 15th, 2010, my husbands 1SG, James Patrick Watkins, known to his soldiers as "Top" and to friends and family as "JP", killed himself.
Usually, I am all about telling the story, making everyone feel as if they were there for any all everything in my life. But I apologize, I do not feel it is necessary to tell the story of what happened, nor do I feel like replaying in detail events and sadness following his death.
I will say a few things, 1SG -JP- was a dear friend to my husband and myself, and he was a wonderful leader to all of the soldiers of ATroop 1-38CAV.
His death has taken a huge tole on my husband. He was at our wedding ceremony in Charleston and he was there to visit at the hospital when I was 10+ hours into labor. He was always there for my husband, believing in him and pushing him to be the best soldier he knew he could be, and for all of that I am truly grateful.
Zak has lost quite a few friends in battle during his last tour in Iraq and now to lose someone he really looked up to and trusted to go into battle with in Afghanistan....lets just say its been hard and I hate seeing my husband so sad. Even though JP had become a great friend to me, I will never understand how Zak is feeling. I just want to hold him and give him big hugs all the time because there really is nothing else I can do, except let time heal.
JP was not only a great friend to me and my husband, he was a great friend to each soldier and their families as well. I know his death is one of the hardest things ATroop will ever have to face, but at the same time it has brought all of us closer together. It has truly made us all a family which is a wonderful thing but just sad that it took something so sad to bring people closer together.
My husband, 1SG, and all the soldiers of 1-38CAV, are just that, Cav Scouts of the United States Cavalry. And it is a belief that all Cavalrymen go to a place called Fiddlers Green...and below is the poem "Fiddlers Green".
Halfway down the trail to Hell
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead Troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen,
And this eternal resting place is
know as Fiddlers' Green
Marching past straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No Trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a sabre keen,
Or on roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean.
And the hostiles come to get your scalp
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.
No comments:
Post a Comment