Families of war dead: Holiday about remembering, honoring

When Lisa Beckerman McGregor learned in January that her son Michael had died in Afghanistan, her world collapsed into an array of agonizing attempts to cope.

She cried, screamed and pleaded. She didn't sleep for days. She denied that it happened.

McGregor refused to accept that her only child was dead.

"I'm not mad at the military, I'm not mad at God, but I wish I could have my son back," she said, fighting back tears. "I wish they had made a mistake."

But they didn't. So as millions of Americans enjoy food, friends and fireworks this Fourth of July weekend, you'll forgive McGregor and others like her for not joining in the festivities.

They'll be remembering their fallen.

The cost of war -- some would call it the cost of freedom -- has always been high, in both human and economic terms. As of Friday, 6,092 military men and women had lost their lives in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The financial tally is also immense. According to a Congressional Research Service study in March, the U.S. had spent $1.28 trillion to wage these wars.

But it's the lives that matter most. In Southeast Missouri, the names have become familiar: Staff Sgt. Bradley J. Skelton of Gordonville, Staff Sgt. Charles Sanders Jr. of Charleston, Sgt. Robert G. Davis of Jackson, Spc. Blake W. Hall of East Prairie, Cpl. Jeremy Shank of Jackson and Sgt. Adam J. Johlhaas of Perryville.

Earlier this year, McGregor's son was added to that list. Sgt. Michael J. Beckerman of Ste. Genevieve, Mo., died in Afghanistan's Kandahar Province after insurgents attacked his unit with an improvised explosive device. He left behind his parents, a wife and a 3-year-old daughter, Brianna.

"We're still crying every day," McGregor said. "Most of the time it's like a daily slap in the face."

Of course, some will pause Monday to reflect on the sacrifices of their fellow fallen Americans. Family members don't have the luxury, however, of reserving remembrances to patriotic holidays. It's always with them, with each anniversary, birthday and family get-together.

Sometimes children pay the price, too. Six-year-old Brayden Davis' father died when Brayden was 3 months old. Sgt. Robert Davis was 23 when he died in Afghanistan on Aug. 19, 2005. He met his son once, briefly, before returning to war.

Davis' widow, Mandy, said their son recently began asking more questions about his father.

"Is there any way that my dad can come home from heaven just so I can see him?" Brayden asked.

Brayden has a picture of his father that hangs in his room. Sometimes he'll take it down and hold it up to his face.

"Don't I look like Dad?"

Davis fears it will get worse. Brayden starts first grade in the fall, and she is not looking forward to school events that are attended by fathers. She knows the other children will be talking about playing catch, fishing or just goofing off with their fathers.

"I'm just going to do my best to make sure he knows about his dad," Davis said. "There was nobody like him. He was very selfless and cared about other people."

Moving on with her life has been a struggle, too. Davis remembers days she couldn't get out of bed. There were bouts of depression. She didn't work for two years after her husband died.

"I was so mad at him," she said. "He left me here with a baby to raise by myself. I was mad at God, too. There was a lot of anger."

Today, she's taking steps toward moving on. She works now at a hospital in medical records. She's gotten engaged. These days she tries to be grateful -- especially for Brayden.

"That little boy for the longest time was my only reason for anything," she said. "I don't know where I would be at this point if I didn't have him."

'A bitter old man'

Not everyone has been able to move on. Jim Shank's son Jeremy was killed at 18 by sniper fire in Iraq. Jeremy had been there less than two weeks when he was killed. Today, nearly five years later, Shank describes himself as "a bitter old man" who is disillusioned about the war.

Shank remembers that day, getting the call -- "The Army is trying to contact you" -- and racing home. Shank feared the worst.

Pulling into his drive, he saw the official-looking vehicle with the U.S. government plates and he knew. He went inside, sat on his couch and waited for the military men in their dress uniforms to bring the news.

"I prayed that he was just injured or wounded or something," Shank said. "But they knocked. 'We regret to inform you... ' I just broke down. It was the worst nightmare. You're not supposed to bury your children."

The Fourth of July means little to Shank and sometimes makes things worse for him.

"It's hard to celebrate," Shank said. "I get ticked off at times when people tell me they're going to the lake, drinking beer, having a picnic and having a great time. I want to tell them, 'You've never had a son die, have you?'"

The patriotic and often pro-war sentiments that sometimes accompany the holiday also irk Shank. Unlike many war widows and parents of killed soldiers, Shank has concluded that his son's death was meaningless because the U.S. should never have been at war in the first place.

"I have lots of questions and lots of blame," said Shank, who also lost his wife last August. "More soldiers are dying, so Jeremy died in vain because we haven't learned a thing. When do you call that war won? You can't. There's no victory in this."

Shank doesn't believe that wars fought so far away are waged to protect U.S. liberties.

"I don't buy that crap," he said. "He wasn't fighting for our freedom. He wasn't fighting for our country. He was just doing a mission."

Still, Shank's views of the political side of war don't taint his respect for those who serve in the military. He is on the board of directors for Heroes Way, the program that raises money to place signs on interstates to honor those killed in the line of duty. Interstate 55 in Southeast Missouri is marked by six such signs.

On Monday, Shank and Heroes Way organizer Ross Gartman will be in Ste. Genevieve at a Fourth of July event to try to help raise money to pay for a sign for Michael Beckerman. Shank said he respects the soldiers and the dangerous situations that they put themselves in. He believes they need to be recognized, even if he's not a believer in the reasons the government send them to war.

"I'm not knocking the soldiers," he said. "I've got nothing but love, support and respect for our guys. I just question deeply the people who made the decision to send them there."

Shank hopes to meet the Beckerman family when he's in St. Genevieve on Monday. While he probably won't share this with them then, he said the pain has not ebbed since his son died. He runs into his son's friends, who have grown older and are starting families. Jeremy's girlfriend has married and has a new baby daughter. Shank can't help but think that would have been his grandchild had Jeremy lived.

"The fire in my life has gone out. I'm just smoldering," Shank said.

Each memory with his son has become a precious stone, and he has regrets. But he hopes, if nothing else, Americans will learn to appreciate what they have.

"You've got to value every minute," he said. "If you've got a family, hold onto them tight. Put all of the petty crap and everything else out of the way and be a family."

He pauses, his voice growing shaky.

"Because you never know."

smoyers@semissourian.com

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