For those we loved, and lost

About 18 months ago, my husband and I went to a military formal for his battalion, the 725th Support Battalion (Airborne).

For anyone not familiar with military vernacular, the “Airborne” in parenthesis is usually shouted at the top of one’s lungs when the name of the battalion is read aloud.

That 2006 ball was given in honor of the battalion, part of the much larger 4/25th Brigade, as they prepared to head off to war in Iraq. It was a heady affair: There were some tears from family, but overall the soldiers were exuberant and excited. Most of them were new to Alaska and didn’t know too many people. While they were eager to get to the Middle East and begin their new jobs, there was a pall that lingered over the event as soldiers and spouses danced one last slow dance on the floor, toasted each other one more time, and just generally enjoyed the one of the last few moments of togetherness for over a year.

This year’s gala celebrated the soldier’s triumphant return. Unlike the event in 2006, the soldiers here were a much more raucous bunch, laughing at each other and hitting each other’s shoulders and cheering whenever someone’s name was announced in the various speeches given over the evening.

The highlight of the event was a 16-minute video of their time in Iraq, which was a pictorial review of their time there.

I’m still interested in hearing my husband’s explanation about the picture of him with the goat. It’s apparently a long story.

The first eleven minutes of the video were marked by catcalls and laughter, as soldiers captured on film in various interesting poses and expressions were displayed one after another. I could hear soldiers at other tables reminiscing about certain photos. Loudly reminiscing with a great deal of candor and expressive metaphors juxtapositioned in between the hysterical laughter.

Then the room got so quiet several servers outside in the hallway of the Marriott stepped in to see if something was wrong.

The latter part of the film, the almost six minutes remaining, was dedicated to the five soldiers of the 725th Support Battalion who did not make it home. These young men, who pictures graced every single program at every single place setting, came back to life in this video. Within seconds of this memorial pictorial tribute to the fallen being displayed, chairs were scraped back throughout the room and one at a time, almost as if it had been choreographed, every single person seated at the over fifty tables throughout the room stood in silence. By the end of the video, over 500 people were standing, most soldiers unashamedly wiping tears away as they saw their comrades one last time on film. The pictures of the young men gracing the screen were typical: Some of them were laughing in various poses, some of them were obviously hard at work and ignored whoever was taking their picture, and some of the pictures showed these men laughing with their friends, relaxing in their rooms in their spare time.

SFC Jesse B. Albrecht. SGT Jason Lantieri. PFC Victor M. Fontanilla. CPL Ryan Collins. SPC Coty Phelps.

These young men, these five fallen soldiers, will never be forgotten. Their memory lives on in every single person in that room, and after the video I could hear soldiers at different tables quietly telling stories about them, many smiling through their tears as they reminisced again about their lost friends.

There were four people at this formal who were the special guests of all of those attending. The parents of the two of soldiers who never made it home came to this affair, and were presented with plaques honoring their sons and dozens of roses.

Both mothers spoke a few words, and the words of one of them lingered in the air. She, very simply and with tears in her voice, quietly thanked all of the soldiers present for loving her son as much as his parents did.

SFC Jesse B. Albrecht. SGT Jason Lantieri. PFC Victor M. Fontanilla. CPL Ryan Collins. SPC Coty Phelps.

All five were soldiers who were here just 18 months ago, before the deployment of the 725th. And while their physical presence was sorely missed by everyone present last week, they were still there. Their stories and their memories kept playing throughout the evening, and they will never be forgotten.

Seated at my table was a soldier who had earned a Purple Heart in Iraq due to an IED explosion. He was quiet about it and said it happened in a prior tour over five years ago. Yet, he had wanted to go back. His wife, seated next to me, smiled at him in pride and sadness.

The guest speaker for evening started her speech asking people to raise their hands if this was their first combat tour. About half the room raised their hands. She then asked how many people were on their second tour, and about a quarter of those left raised their hands. She paused significantly, and asked who was on their third tour. There were still a few hands in the air.

Then, she took a deep breath and asked who had been on four combat tours. I was shocked when the only hand that slowly rose in the air belonged to a neighbor who lives just a street away from me in Palmer. His wife and I are casual friends and have compared children notes and shared laughter many times over the past year. I had no idea this Iraq deployment was her husband’s fourth.

Later, when I spoke with him, he told me about them: Iraq, Afghanistan, Kosovo and Bosnia. He managed to come home from Iraq in time for the birth of his first grandchild.

He was one of the lucky ones. So was my husband, the emcee for the evening. Every single soldier in that room that night was one of the lucky ones, and the names and memories of those five soldiers who were not will never, ever be forgotten.

SFC Jesse B. Albrecht. SGT Jason Lantieri. PFC Victor M. Fontanilla. CPL Ryan Collins. SPC Coty Phelps.

These five, who are no longer with us, were celebrated that night by everyone present. Celebrated, and remembered.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and the stepmother of one. Her husband, Drew, was deployed to Iraq and returned home in December. She writes every Sunday abut life at home as a wife and mother.