Team,
I hope that this note finds you well. I know I’ve been missing in action for the past couple of weeks, but it doesn’t mean that we haven’t been working. We’ve had some great things happen for us over the past couple of weeks.
Before I begin, I’d like to thank all of you who have made donations over the past couple of weeks. Since we don’t know when our next fundraiser is going to be, your generosity is greatly appreciated.
We’ve received confirmation that two of the folks we’ve asked to deliver socks will make deliveries a week apart in October, then begin monthly deliveries going forward. After 9 months without being able to get our normal supply line going this news is the best we could have received.
We were able to also get a boost from our partner STANCE who provided us with a financial donation and a large bunch of socks. In addition to the boost to our group’s bottom line, it gave Carla and I something to do as we matched about a thousand pairs of socks this week. Never let it be said that we aren’t willing to go to any length to help our friends forward.
Our neighbors would walk by our house and look at us with the small mountains of socks and shake their heads. You could see it in the looks on their faces, “what a hassle. They must be crazy.” They’re wrong. We were grateful for the distraction.
It’s important for us to stay busy this time of year, as next week will mark the 11th anniversary of our son’s death in Afghanistan.
We’ll mark it the same way that we do every year. We’ll go down to Rosecrans to put flowers on Donald’s grave. Carla will bake an apple pie. I am sure that we will hear from the men he served with to let us know that he hasn’t been forgotten.
It’s hard for me to believe that it’s been 11 years since he’s been gone. Somedays it feels like it was yesterday. The death of the AAV team this year has raised a lot of memories and has caused me some sleepless nights as I am reminded of the grief and anguish, we experienced at the time.
The Marines knocking on the door. Calling Carla to come downstairs. Having the Sergeant read the action report. The description of our son’s wounds. The statement that he is dead. They are not unkind in the process; they are tasked with notification. They perform their duty, the Chaplain who accompanied them asks if he can help. They leave.
Our journey begins.
We make the journey to Dover. We watch our son being carried out of the plane by 6 Marines in his flag draped coffin and then loaded into an ambulance for transportation to the morgue. We are fortunate that our nephew who is a midshipman at the Naval Academy meets us and, at the request of his Marine advisor, brings us back to Annapolis before making the journey home. The Lieutenant Colonel gives us a personal tour of the Academy and takes a moment to show us the painting of another Marine John Ripley who was awarded the Medal of Honor for mining a bridge under fire to stop a North Vietnamese Army attack. He had met him in a bar in Annapolis and had told him that during the process he accepted the fact that he would not survive and as a result his fear had left him.
At our quarters that night, we receive an e-mail from the Mother of one of the Marines who was on the patrol with Donald who had spoken to her son who told her that our son had seen a wire being pulled to trigger an IED and instead of running, pushed the nearest Marine out of the way and then putting his body between the IED and the rest of the patrol warned them off.
When I read that, I thought of John Ripley and hoped that my son felt that enlightenment that he spoke about prior to his death.
We hear from Carla’s brother who served in Iraq who tells us to roll back the clock to 5 minutes before the event. He is a Master of the Universe. Doing what he trained to do, wanted to do since he was a little kid. He then tells us that when he died, he was surrounded by men who loved him utterly. It relieves my pain a little and I think we should all be so lucky.
We hear from reporters who want details and want to know how we feel. After a while we quit responding. One day we hear from the war correspondent from the San Diego Tribune who asks if she can speak to us about Donald. Not his death. Donald.
I tell her about his good nature and his goofy smile. I tell her how much he loved to eat. I tell her about his wanting to be part of something bigger than himself and his frustration when he was posted next to our home. I tell her about the one thing that he always wanted. To be a Marine, how much he loved it and his plans for his career.
She asks how the experience has affected me and Carla, I tell her the truth. We are devastated. A piece of our souls has been removed and can never be replaced. She asks how I feel about my son. I tell her that he has taught me two important things; 1) Life is precious and it’s short, and 2) We are all capable of at least on phenomenal act in our lifetimes.
We bury our son the next week and have his celebration of life on Labor Day. In February, the Battalion returns and there is a Memorial Service for Donald and the three other Marines who died during the deployment.
And then life goes on.
We’ve tried to honor our son’s memory through our actions over the years. Sometimes I feel like we are falling short. But every day, we are guided by our son’s example and remember that our lives are precious and they’re short, and we continue to try to find our one phenomenal act.
On Monday, there will be a unit Memorial Service for the Marines lost in the AAV. If you can, say a prayer for the families who have lost so much for our Nation.
And on Wednesday, have a piece of Apple Pie to remember our son.
Thanks for joining us in our position in this fight.
Jim Hogan
In memory of our son, LCPL Donald Hogan
Posthumously awarded the Navy Cross
KIA 8/26/2009 Nawa, Afghanistan
We honor his memory by caring for Americans serving in harm’s way.