This weekend, Dan and I attended the New Mexico Press Association's awards banquet because I somehow won a couple of awards for my work in the last year. One of the awards meant a lot to me because it was first prize in the columns competition in my state division for a pair of columns I wrote about Aaron and Ryan and everything that has happened since we found out Aaron was going to be deployed to Iraq last year. The first one also won honorable mention in my division of the Serious Column category of the National Newspaper Assocation competititon earlier this year. My parents, because they are proud of me and the fact that I have gone on to be mildly accomplished even though I can't do math, say that I should post the columns here so that you all can read them. After this, I'm thinking about attaching magnets to the back of the plaque I got so I can hang it on the refrigerator. Here they are. These were originally published in the Valencia County News-Bulletin on the dates listed.
October 16, 2004
By Haley Wachdorf
I was standing in my kitchen in Albuquerque two weeks ago talking on the telephone and rummaging through the refrigerator to check the expiration date on a half-gallon of milk when my mom told me that my little brother Aaron is going to the war in Iraq next year. It's funny how the big news in your life hits when you're least expecting it, and you just can't quite think of what to do. I actually kept looking to make sure the milk was still good before I sat down on the floor and cried.
My twin brothers, Aaron and Ryan, are 21 years old, but it's hard for me to remember that. Instead, I remember the days when my family had a weekend cabin in north Mississippi. When I think of my brothers, I see both of them standing at the top of some hill on our land, shirtless, skinny little ribs poking out of their 8-year-old bodies, holding sticks in their grubby hands in place of guns and declaring that there would be "No girls in our fort, Haley." All five kids in my family were born with these enormous chubby cheeks that prevented us from pronouncing our words properly, so it always sounded more like "No gulls in owa fowt, Haley."
Naturally, I have been thinking about Aaron a lot lately. I love Aaron, and the little kid in me is ready and willing to beat up anybody who says anything bad about him, but I'm not going to deny that it's a wonder we didn't kill each other when we were kids. Now that I'm older, I recognize that Aaron and I are just a little too similar to one another in personality to get along easily. We're both stubborn, or, as the older folks in Mississippi would say, "ornery", we're both unflinchingly passionate about the things we believe in, and we both have a hard time admitting we were wrong about anything. Ever. We fought pretty much from the moment he was able to stand up and talk. I think my parents considered putting muzzles on us.
But in more recent years, the most amazing thing has happened. I have really started to enjoy my brothers. When they tell stories about things we've done or things my family did a long time ago, I laugh until I can't breathe even though I've heard those stories over and over. They're both tall and good looking and smart, and it's been a while since any of us threatened to tell on each other to Mom. Of course, we're not above the occasional childish prank. When I got married, the boys gave me a live lizard wrapped in a gift box at the wedding reception. It jumped out of the box, and everyone screamed. Since I was in my wedding dress, I didn't chase them down, but they ran anyway.
When Aaron told the family that he was going to join the Marine Reserves last year, I was proud of him, but a little worried, too. I know he's really an adult, but it seemed wrong somehow for my little brother to be a warrior and carry a real gun instead of a stick. Also, I knew that with a war going on, there was a good chance he would have to go overseas at some point. I just didn't want to think about it. But now I have to, and I am afraid.
Aaron, in his typically confident way, got on the phone the night I heard the news and told me not to worry, that he will be fine. I want that to be true. I so very much want that to be true.
Aaron is supposed to be deployed in March, but he leaves in December for a few months of training. On November 20, I'm going home to see him get married to his long-time girlfriend, Kelly, before he leaves. It's going to be a great wedding, and I can't wait to go. But if Aaron think he's going to get off without any pranks from me at his wedding, he's clearly forgotten the lizard incident. I'm already digging through my boxes of old photos to find the most embarrassing pictures I can find to turn into slides for the rehearsal dinner.
If I cry on the pictures a little bit in the process, no one has to know.
April 2, 2005
By Haley Wachdorf
News-Bulletin Staff Writer
Friday, March 18, was just another day for me. I came to work, wrote a story, went to a school to take some photos, and then went home. I remember that I was in a really happy mood as I was driving down Highway 47 looking at the beautiful countryside and thinking about all the little errands I needed to take care of on Saturday.
I didn’t know that at that very moment on the other side of the world, my brother was gravely injured, lying in a building west of Baghdad waiting for the fighting around him to subside enough that a helicopter could land and take him to a hospital.
It has been about six months since my family learned that Aaron, one of my two Marine brothers, would be deployed to Iraq. Since he left in January, I think each member of my family has visualized what would happen if we ever had to hear news telling us that Aaron had been killed in combat. It’s a morbid thing to do, but somehow it’s impossible not to think about it.
In my vision of that moment I hoped would never come, I knew that I would be told on the phone, most likely by my mother, and that I would know something terrible had happened immediately, because my mother would be crying.
On Saturday morning, just as I was starting in on my second cup of coffee, the phone rang. My husband answered it. He handed the phone to me. It was my mom, and she was crying.
Some people claim that when you get close to dying, your life flashes before your eyes. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that in the moment when I thought Aaron was dead, it was like someone had flipped a switch that turned off all the lights in the world and started a rapid-fire series of images in my mind.
Instead of my kitchen cabinets, which were inches from my face, I saw Aaron when we were little, clinging to the top of the magnolia tree in our yard with his twin brother, Ryan. I saw them walking in front of me on the way to school on cool fall mornings, starting off at a casual walk and then eventually breaking out into a full run, racing one another to the stop sign at the end of our street. I saw them dangling their skinny, tanned legs out of the window of our two-story playhouse, daring one another to jump out into the summer twilight. I saw them land safely and roll around in the grass, holding their sides in hysterical laughter at their brush with gravity.
Then I tried to picture it all without Aaron. Ryan without his brother and best friend Aaron. Kelly, Aaron’s beautiful wife, without Aaron. I tried to see our big loud family, with our marathon meals and poker games and fireworks and inside jokes and constant laughter, only with four kids instead of five.
This is the moment when the nightmare comes true for some families, and my heart breaks for them.
But for me, a few seconds after that moment, the words my mom was saying to me suddenly turned into English again, and I realized that Aaron was alive. The Humvee he was driving in Iraq struck an improvised explosive device planted by insurgents, and Aaron was injured in the explosion. His leg had to be amputated below the knee after he was taken to Germany by helicopter.
It’s not good news. The idea that someone would lie in wait to hurt or kill someone you love so much is absolutely hateful. Knowing that my brother will have to go through life without his leg makes me sad.
But I’m thankful that we don’t have to go through life without him.
In the next week or so, I’m going to travel to National Naval Center in Bethesda, Maryland, to see Aaron. He is recuperating marvelously and will be learning to walk with a prosthetic leg soon.
When I see him, I’m not sure if I’m going to hug him or beat him senseless with hospital pillows for frightening all of us so much, but I know that I’m going to talk to him for hours and hours.
Because I still can.
As a note to all those of you who follow our press service here, it sounds like Aaron is actually going to be featured pretty extensively in an article written by the Sport Illustrated reporter who covered the Army's ten mile run back in September. I'll find out more and let you know. Of course, one of these days, we're told Aaron is going to be on the Today Show, but I'll believe that when I see it at this point.
Goodnight, all.