Tag Archives: war

Review: Last Journey

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Last Journey — A Father and Son in Wartime is a book unlike any other I’ve ever read. As I mentioned earlier this week, this book has been difficult for me to review. It is hard to separate personal, emotional reactions to a book like this from a review. I wanted to be able to give you all a clear look at the book. Darrell Griffin Jr. and Sr. had been planning to write a book together after the war. Before he could return from his second deployment to Iraq, Darrell Griffin, Jr. was killed. Darrell Griffin, Sr. wrote this book as a last gift to his son.

Last Journey begins with a photo of Darrell Griffin, Jr.’s (“Griff” from here on) headstone. Darrell Sr. describes the day he got the news of his son’s death, then rewinds back to his own childhood. He describes the arrival of his son, Griff, when he was still very young. He describes Griff’s youth and teen years in great detail. This man his son became took the road less traveled, no doubt, to such honorable careers in adulthood as an EMT and later, an US Infantry soldier.

Griff had been a troubled young man. War, in ways, made him a troubled man. He went from rebelling to the nth degree against his parents to studying philosophy and saving lives. His men and comrades in the Army looked up to him. Some admit rarely understanding what Griff was talking about when he began waxing philosophic in Iraq, but they all respected him.

Darrell, Sr. goes into great detail of both tours of duty that Griff served in Iraq. Between the book they’d been working on together, emails from his son, and later a trip to Iraq to meet his soldiers, Darrell Sr. built a compelling storyline of each of Griff’s tours. The first time he was deployed was for 12 months near the beginning of the war in Iraq. Reading a father’s perspective of the way his son processed war is an incredible and intimate experience. I found it intriguing the way that a father could pinpoint things within his son’s confusion that Griff maybe never realized.

Griff’s second tour was with the same unit that my husband was in. Reading about some of the major events for them during this tour was gut-wrenching at times, even if I’d heard it before. I had never heard a complete description of what happened the day that Griff was killed. Reading that tore my heart out. Darrell, Sr. goes into great detail about his son’s mood in the time leading up to his death, the events of the day, and the medical attempts at saving Griff’s life. I spent much of the time while reading, wondering how Darrell, Sr. was able to compile these details, lay them out in order, make sense of them, and not just implode. He describes later, and in more detail, the day that his family was notified that Griff had been killed in combat. The pace of the book slows into an almost surreal pace then. An amazing experience for a reader to feel like they hit a wall in time…also heartbreakingly real.

Darrell, Sr. made it his mission to get to Iraq and meet Griff’s unit before they re-deployed to Fort Lewis. After jumping through hoops, he managed to do so. He planned the trip with intent of gaining some closure and of collecting more information to complete their book. What he found there was not closure, but perhaps a level of understanding that most parents of soldiers never have the chance to gain.

The book also includes an appendix with a helpful list of military acronyms (though Darrell, Sr. did a great job at explaining most things that would need clarification) and copies of Griff’s incident reports. Some of those are rather difficult to read because they’re shrunken computer documents and the book itself is small, but they’re worth reading if you can.

This book is a great read and I highly recommend it. Whether you’ve served yourself or never met anyone who has, Last Journey will be a reading experience you never forget. To see both a father’s experience of having a son in war and losing that son, as well as a brilliant soldier’s insights about war, Iraq, and politics, is an opportunity you shouldn’t pass up. The world lost much in Griff’s death.

Other Posts You Might Like:

On Reading Last Journey

My War — Killing Time in Iraq by Colby Buzzell

Here, Bullet by Brian Turner A poetry collection by a 3/2 soldier

Wilfred Owen — WWI Poet

On Reading Last Journey — Review to Come

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I finished Last Journey on Monday and am still processing. Usually, while I read a book, I am already thinking about what I want to say about it. In fact, I frequently jot down notes and pages I’d like to revisit or quote from. I have to admit that this book was particularly difficult for me to read. My husband was a friend of Darrell Griffin’s. They were squad leaders together during their last tour in Iraq (2006 – 2007). Many of the events that Darrell Sr. describes during his son’s tour were events my husband experienced. I remember him telling me stories about “Griff” and once mentioned how he was excited about introducing me to him once they were back in the US.

There were many times while reading the book that I was also recalling the IM chats and emails that John (husband) and I had at that exact time. One particularly difficult time for them was the battle of Najaf, which now goes by numerous names. As is common with these kinds of things, there are many different printed versions of the events that happened there. My husband has given me his piece of the story. While reading about that I remember:

– We were chatting one day and he said, “I gotta go. I’ll contact your asap,” and he was gone like a flash. I was worried. His Stryker brigade had become a Quick Reaction Force, with the task of running to the aid of whoever needed them at a moments notice. Running off this quickly was not good news for someone out there.

– I knew enough about where they were (kind of) and about his unit to start digging around the internet for news in the area. Black Anthem was both my friend and worst enemy at these times. I learned enough over the next couple of days from the site (and some others) to become incredibly worried.

– After, I think, three days my husband was able to get online for a few minutes to say he was all right. He got on webcam. I will never forget his face that day, for the rest of my life. If you could see ghosts through someone elses eyes, that is who was looking back at me. His dirty, pale, tired face told me more than I wanted to know just by looking at him. I was happy he was safe and heartbroken by the unknown of the past few days. I could just tell that it had been a horrible few days. After that they “blacked out” the internet and phones. Something they do when soldiers are killed so that information can’t be leaked before a family is notified. While I understand the reason, those few days until you hear from your loved one feel like the longest days of your entire life. Especially after seeing my husbands face… but what can you do except be happy he’s alive and hope that he gets some sleep.

Later in the book, while reading Darrell Sr.’s re-living of the events after his son’s death (being informed, making funeral plans, processing the worst news any parent could ever get), I was laying on my couch and tearing up. My son started kicking in my belly and I thought, I hope my son never has to be in a war.

That thought brought back a memory for me. In 2002, my older brother was in basic training. My boyfriend was in Ft. Lewis, WA in an Infantry brigade, almost certain to deploy since we had already entered Afghanistan and talks about Iraq were heating up in the media.

That fall, the VFW I worked at had its annual Signal Fire. It’s a ceremonial fire where flags are retired and burned because they’re in bad shape. Emotions were running high for everyone considering world events at that time. There were quite a few tears. After the ceremony was over, my father and I were standing by the fire. It was dark and no one else was around. My dad (an Air Force veteran) said, When your brother was born, we’d just come out of Vietnam. The world was calming down. I though, this is a good time to have a son. Hopefully he’ll never have to see something like Vietnam. Hopefully the world will be peaceful now.

Having now how that very same thought myself (insert “Iraq” instead of “Vietnam”), I had the sinking realization that war will always be. We will never “learn a lesson,” and there will never be peace. Maybe for a few decades, for some countries, sometimes…  I choked out a sob and realized that I needed to put the book down for a bit. I came back and finished it a while later.

I intended to review the book on Tuesday or today, but I am still truly digesting everything I read. I promise to have it up soon, though. In the meantime, I am going to sew some baby stuff, knit, and maybe read something light for a few days.

Which reminds me, I am also planning a post of different kinds of reading. Some books, like Last Journey, take something out of you. Other books are work to read. Still others are a similar experience to reading the Sunday comics. The way we choose which to read, what draws us to a certain reading experience over another, and what we take from those experiences is something that really interests me and I’d love to learn more about it from my readers in the future.

Look out for the review, the experiences of reading post, and some more to come.

Wilfred Owen

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I want to share one of my favorite poets with all of you. I am not big on reading poetry, really, so there are a few select poets I’m crazy about. Wilfred Owen is one of those poets. He was an English soldier who served during World War I. During that era, most British soldiers had college educations. There was loads of propaganda about WWI. One common British WWI poster was the silhouette of a soldier, standing guard on a hilltop with the statement, “HALT! Who goes there? If you are a friend join the British ranks and help the brave lads AT THE FRONT.” Another, appealing to the support of women at home, depicts a mother, her young daughter and even younger son, longingly gazing out an open window. The strong message here is, “Women of Britain say- GO!” Wilfred Owen was distressed by this popularization of war.

He addressed the propaganda with his poetry. There was a lot of hero poetry and work that supported the propaganda. Owen’s poems were vastly different from other works because he addressed the side of war that you only see at the front. The graphic imagery dashes the pretty pictures people had formed in their minds of the glorious, uniformed British soldier marching bravely into battle and returning without a scratch. His descriptions of mustard gas in Dulce et Decorum Est and of death on the battlefield in Anthem for Doomed Youth shocked many readers who were under the viel of propaganda.

In this day and age of so many wars raging around the world, I think that we need more Wilfred Owen’s. There has been incredible art in the form of poetry, music, painting, novels, blogs, videos, etc. coming out of wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Some of them less shocking than others, but all incredible in their own rite.

This link has great explanatory notes along with Dulce et Decorum Est. Here is another deep look at the poem.

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, –
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Anthem For Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Here is some great info on Anthem. If you’d like to read more of Wilfred Owen’s work, go here. I highly recommend it.

A note about WO-type work:A friend recently recommended Blood Makes the Grass Grow Green: A Year in the Desert with Team America. He told me that if I liked My War by Colby Buzzel, I would like this one even more. I think it may rank up there with some of the more graphic works that has come out of Iraq. When I manage to buy it, I will review it here.

Review: Here, Bullet — Brian Turner

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Here, Bullet by Brian Turner was written during his 2003 – 2004 tour of duty in Iraq with the 3rd Stryker Brigade, 2nd Infantry Division. Almost every poem is accompanied by the location he wrote it (city, town, FOB, etc.). Turner earned a BFA prior to joining the US Army. He also served during 1999-2000 in Bosnia-Herzegovina with the 10th Mountain Division.

This collection is an intriguing read. It seems to follow his deployment chronologically. It’s a mixture of single moments that Turner describes in fine-point detail and whole days he pulls together into something coherent and frighteningly beautiful while reflecting. Some poems give you the distinct feeling that Turner was making sense of things while he wrote about them. Some are incredibly urgent, while others are relaxed or cautious. The ebb and flow of emotions while reading this book is–I imagine–similar to the ebb and flow that a soldier goes through during a year (at that time) in combat in surroundings so dissimilar from what they’re used to.

I have trouble finding a theme to discuss or a single, poignant piece of commentary about this book. It is short, but heavy and I find myself wanting to say (as I have about so many non-fiction or poetic works) that it breeds understanding in the reader. It does, but that doesn’t quite explain. So in lieu of struggling to be eloquent about a collection that moved me so much (and by a soldier whom my boyfriend served with while he wrote these poems) , I am going to let Turner’s words speak for themselves. Here are some of excerpts of my favorites.

from “Dream from the Malaria Pills”

“Bosch soaks his forearm in lighter fluid,
flares a match head and sets his skin on fire.”

from “What Every Soldier Should Know.”

“Always enter a home with your right foot,
the left is for cemeteries and unclean places.”
“Small children will play with you,
old men with their talk, women who offer chai–

and any one of them
may dance over your body tomorrow.”

from “2000 Lbs.”

“The civil affairs officer, Lt. Jackson, stares
at his missing hands, which make
no sense to him, no sense at all, to wave
these absurd stumps held in the air
where just a moment before he’s blown bubbles
out the Humvee window–”

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