What A Life
He looked so young, just a boy, really, not much more than twenty-one
years of age. It wasn’t fair that he’d already experienced so much pain
and misery in his short lifetime. It wasn’t right that his lofty hopes and
dreams for the future had been snuffed out by one blast from an enemy
explosive device.
But there he was, in the intensive care unit at the Walter Reed Army
Medical Center, in Washington, D.C., fighting for his life.
My wife, Elizabeth, and I often visit wounded soldiers at Walter Reed, but
this occasion was different. It was Christmas day 2004, and I was about to
be discharged from the hospital myself. I had recently undergone surgery
in New York, and had been transferred to the medical center in Washington
to recuperate.
We were in the dining room shortly before two o’clock, visiting with
several young soldiers who had been wounded in the Iraq war, when a mother
and daughter spied us. They approached us and introduced themselves as
distant relatives of my family. The mother then told us about her son,
Craig Nelson, the young man in whose room I now stood. My friend Dr.
Charles “Chuck” Peck had informed me of Craig’s presence in the hospital,
and I had hoped to see him before I left, so the encounter seemed almost
providential.
Craig had been badly wounded while on patrol in Iraq a week or so before
Christmas. He suffered severe damage to his C-1 vertebra and was paralyzed
from his neck down. Now lying in an intensive care unit at Walter Reed, he
couldn’t move a muscle. He was hooked up to all sorts of medical machines,
with various tubes running to his body, an electrocardiogram monitoring
his heart, a respirator helping him to breathe, and a tracheotomy in his
throat.
Nevertheless, the young man’s eyes brightened as I stepped up to his
bedside. His mother introduced us: “Craig, this is Bob Dole.” Craig’s
sister joined us around the bed. Craig couldn’t speak, but he could hear
me and seemed to respond with his eyes.
Looking at Craig, I felt a wave of emotion sweep over me, nearly
overwhelming me. It was like seeing a mirror image of myself sixty years
earlier. He was tall and muscular, about six feet, one and a half inches,
and about 185 pounds, almost identical to my World War II height and
weight. For a moment I was back there, in a similar hospital bed, encased
in plaster, unable to move, paralyzed from the neck down.
I just stood there at Craig’s bedside. I could feel my heart thumping
loudly in my chest, my emotions rushing to the surface. I knew the tough
road Craig had before him – and his condition was far worse than mine had
been.
I reached out my hand – my left hand – touched the soldier’s arm, and
said, “Good luck, Craig. You’re in a great hospital. They’ll take good
care of you.” We stayed only about five minutes.
I looked the young man in the eyes one more time, then turned to his
mother, put my arm around her shoulder, and said, “We’ll pray for Craig’s
recovery. Please let me know if I can help.”
Unfortunately, a few days later Craig Nelson, another American hero,
passed away. I grieved for that family and became more determined that
this book would do something to help others understand their pain – and
the trauma that so many others have endured because of war.
I’ve seen these kids in the hospitals and out, people who face seemingly
impossible challenges, and I’ve seen myself in them. Whatever reassurance,
hope, and inspiration I can offer them comes out of my own life
experiences.
It’s said often that my generation is the greatest generation. That’s not
a title we claimed for ourselves. Truth be told, we were ordinary
Americans fated to confront extraordinary tests. Every generation of young
men and women who dare to face the realities of war – fighting for
freedom, defending our country, with a willingness to lay their lives on
the line – is the greatest generation.
In the end, what gets people through a physical or emotional crisis is not
new technology or medication. Those things can help, of course. But it’s
faith that gives you the strength to endure – faith that won’t allow you
to give up; faith that manifests itself in a ferocious determination to
take the next step – the one that everyone else says is impossible.
Adversity can be a harsh teacher. But its lessons often define our lives.
As much as we may wish that we could go back and relive them, do things
differently, make better, wiser decisions, we can’t change history. War is
like that. You can rewrite it, attempt to infuse it with your own personal
opinions, twist or spin it to make it more palatable, but eventually the
truth will come out. Those pivotal moments remain indelibly impressed in
your heart and mind. For me, the defining period in my life was not
running for the highest office in the land. It started years earlier, in a
foreign country, where hardly anyone knew my name.
Dear Mom and Dad,
What a life! I can hardly believe that I’m living in such a wonderful
place. My rest is about over, but I’ve really enjoyed myself so far. I’m
going on a tour this afternoon, also one tomorrow morning. I should see
about everything when I’m finished.
The radio is playing. It reminds me of the times that I’ve been home
playing Norma Jean’s records. So far I haven’t heard any records by
Frank Sinatra. I guess he isn’t too popular over here.
The war news really sounds good. I guess Russia plans on helping us with
Japan. Keep your eyes on the news for big things to happen.
Had a fine breakfast this morning, scrambled eggs, bacon, tomato juice,
toast and coffee. I sure miss my quart of milk per day. Tell Aunt
Mildred to be sure to save some for Kenny and me when we get home.
I ran into a Lt. in Eugene’s camp only yesterday but still haven’t seen
Eugene.
So bye for now
Love
Bob
(Continues…)
Excerpted from One Soldier’s Story
by Bob Dole Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
HarperCollins
ISBN: 0-06-076341-8
