On this trip out of Baghdad I was honored to share our plane with a fallen soldier and participate in the dignified transfer of that soldier from our C-130 to the next vehicle in the long chain returning the soldier to their family. On a dusty windy tarmac, in our rumpled green camouflage or traveling denim and mismatched body armor, it was one of the most deeply dignified and honorable and moving experiences of my life.

The ceremony included all 50 of us on the flight (civilian, military and flight crew) standing at attention, or with hands on our hearts, facing each other, while six soldiers transferred the casket between us, with solemn, measured dignity, the 50 feet from the rear of the plane to the rear of the receiving vehicle.

I asked the marine leading the ceremony if I could know the soldier’s name. He said he didn’t know. I feel like I need to find out. And yet there is a part of me that makes it more special to not know – as if my participation in this anonymous transfer allows me to honor the thousands who have fallen in Iraq in the past eight years.

If this seems uncharacteristically sentimental of me, watch the movie, “Taking Chance“. It is the story of a marine escorting another fallen marine across America and back to his family. One of the most profound and moving films I’ve ever watched and I strongly recommend it to everyone. It also gave me, months ago, the exact feeling I had yesterday. There is little I can do to help my friends and family understand most of my life in Iraq. But if you watch the movie, you will understand at least this one small piece.

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