The Hanging of Saddam Hussein

My deployment to Iraq (2008-09) was pretty boring for the most part. I was at a little base called Camp Bucca and my job was not very exciting, it kept me at a desk in the chapel most days. A few times a week, I would escort the chaplain to the TIF (theater internment facility) to visit our troops, medics, and command staff. Sometimes when the chaplain was counseling with a soldier, I would get to pull tower duty over one of the compounds while the chaplain and soldier walked around and chatted. A couple of times when visiting the SHU (special housing unit, where the worst of the worst were kept in solitary confinement), I was overwatch during a detainee being moved from his cell to the small fenced patio for his outside time. That was almost exciting. I held the taser for that job, just in case the detainee had the guts to do something stupid while being moved. They never did, they knew better. That was one cool thing about deploying with a Military Police battalion. I was trained on their non-lethal weapons, trained in combatives, self-defense, and other exciting things. I could have done without the required OC spray (pepper spray) followed by an obstacle course, but that was part of it.

Overall, it was a boring deployment. Nothing like my time in Afghanistan (2013-14) where I traveled all over the country escorting my chaplain. Camp Bucca, Iraq, at least while I was there, was not exciting. And in some ways, that’s a good thing. Very few times was our base threatened, and even if it was, it wasn’t anything like I saw in Afghanistan. I probably saw and heard more attacks in any particular week of travel in Afghanistan as I did my entire deployment in Iraq. Boring can be good in that case. But boring can also be tough on morale. My fellow chaplain assistants and I did what we could to make Bucca a little better for those of us stuck there.

Sometime in 2008, a bootleg video of Saddam Hussein’s hanging was circulated via email. It was a very different view from the official video footage released by the Iraqi government after Hussein’s hanging on December 30, 2006. That video stopped just short of his actual hanging. The unofficial video being circulated that I saw was of poor quality, obviously taken on a cell phone. Lights seemed to be flashing, but that was probably the cell phone camera not having enough light to take good video. And the picture was unstable, lots of movement. Obviously, whoever was filming the execution was moving with the action as it happened, while Saddam was being escorted to the gallows. I watched that cell phone footage of him being led to the noose. I couldn’t understand the Arabic being spoken. I watched that video as the rope was put snuggly around Saddam’s neck. He spoke defiantly, or perhaps he was praying, I don’t know, but it was no help to him. The floor dropped out from under him, and after a few seconds, he hung lifeless and still.

That was a morale boost for me. Does that make me a bad person? Nope. That’s why we were there. Do you have any idea how hard it was to be present during the times a soldier was notified of a death of a loved-one from far away, or to organize a memorial service for a fallen soldier, or to inform a spouse that her husband’s plane went down in Afghanistan and there were no survivors? Do you know how hard it was to read casualty reports on the secret-side email and see how those events unfolded? Do you know how hard it was to see those burned children? Honestly, I think it would have been easier to see corpses instead of those children in pain and suffering, crying, scared, with no chance of ever being bodily normal again. Sometimes I still see those three children when I lay down to sleep at night.

I’ve seen some horrible things and I’ve seen some wonderful things. And I can say that the only time I’ve ever witnessed a death (on video or in person) and smiled about it, was watching the hanging of Saddam Hussein. The unofficial video was a couple of years old when I saw it, but at the time, that bootleg video was new to us. To me, it put to rest any doubts. There had been talk for a while that Saddam wasn’t really dead, because the official video didn’t show his neck snapping like the bootleg video did. The official video stopped just before the floor fell out from under him. But the scratchy, unprofessional, dimly lit video from a cell phone that I, and others saw, was enough to make it a good day for me. Saddam’s neck snapped and all life left his body. I smiled. And I didn’t feel bad at all when watching Saddam die in that video. It made me happy, really happy. Once in a while, though, I do think about it and wonder if my feelings about watching that video were normal. That doesn’t usually last long. Maybe I’m demented, but I don’t feel bad about it. He got what he deserved.

I write about a lot of things here, some uplifting, some dark. When you visit Story of My Life, you agree to take the good with the bad. Thank you for stopping by this week. Good day, God bless.



You Don’t See Me

I had a conversation with the new Command Sergeant Major at my army reserve battalion. It was a little one-sided. Those of you who have served in the military know what I’m talking about. I’m coming up on the end of my military career in the reserves, an ending that is not as much my choice as it is the army’s. With that said, I’m a little less likely to hold my tongue than I might have before. I’m still respectful, I just don’t pull my punches anymore, I leave no doubt as to what I’m thinking. I don’t remember exactly what I said that started, “With all due respect Sergeant Major.” But I know it was the truth. Then the Sergeant Major spoke. And what he said was also the truth. I had hoped to talk with him more that weekend, but with a busy training schedule it wasn’t to happen. So, I thought I’d write out what I would have liked to say to him.

The Sergeant Major doesn’t see me, the soldier. He only sees what’s left of me, the soldier. He sees the old guy whose best days are behind him. He doesn’t see that I came back into service at 36 years old after a 14-year break, because the army needed people to do a job. They needed people really bad at the time, and I answered the call. And I would do it again. (click here for more).

The Sergeant Major sees a soldier that can’t pass the army physical fitness test. But he doesn’t see that until my deployment to Afghanistan (2013-14), I was passing the PT test at the standards of an 18-year old (the standards get easier as the soldier gets older). Yeah, I was in my early 40’s passing it with the numbers an 18-year old would have to do to pass. He sees an older, slower soldier. But he doesn’t see that the last two months of my deployment to Afghanistan I was injured. I sucked it up and completed my mission. He doesn’t know the doctor at my little base over there suggested I go to Germany for treatment, then home. He doesn’t know I decided to stay, despite the pain I was in. (click here for more).

The Sergeant Major sees a soldier that moves slowly. He doesn’t see that on my two deployments, I brought my chaplains back safe and sound. And that on my last deployment, we traveled Afghanistan extensively. He doesn’t see that in the narrative of my Bronze Star award it tells how I performed my duties under hostile enemy attacks. He doesn’t see that while I was serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, there were soldiers that had been hiding in the instructor unit (my current unit) for a decade or longer.

Left:  Kabul, Afghanistan 2103.  Right:  Umm Qasr, Iraq 2008.

The Sergeant Major sees a soldier that lacks motivation. He doesn’t see my ribbon rack on my dress uniform. He doesn’t see that if I were to update my rack, I’d have 15 different awards on my chest. He doesn’t see all the times I volunteered for different things. He doesn’t see that at a previous unit, I had used up all my allowed time for the fiscal year but still drove 50 miles to give a brief for free (retirement points only). He doesn’t see that I coordinated the suicide intervention training for a CACOM I was in, and that my CACOM was the only command in USACAPOC that met standards by the deadline. Yeah, I got an award from the USACAPOC Command Chaplain for that.

The Sergeant Major sees a somewhat disgruntled soldier. He doesn’t see that I’ve been stuck in a broken system that hasn’t fully addressed my physical and mental injuries. He doesn’t see that I never chose to be a substandard soldier, that in fact, at one time, I was a damn good soldier. He doesn’t see that the circumstances and stresses of all that I’ve gone through have made me what I am now. He doesn’t see that the weight I bear from the physical and mental issues of not being able to perform like I used to was a contributing factor in my suicide attempt in 2015. That, among other things. He doesn’t see how much this kills me inside, only how it currently affects my attitude, something I know I need to work on. (click here for more).

The Sergeant Major doesn’t see me. He only sees what’s left of me. That’s not fair to either one of us. He probably doesn’t see that I’m my own worst critic and that I absolutely hate that I’m not able to do the things I used to do or handle situations and stress like I have in the past. He has no idea how valuable an asset I can be in the right environment. I could see it in his eyes that he plans on creating the right environment. I could hear it in his voice when he spoke to me. It’s a big job he’s taking on, and I don’t think the odds are in his favor, only because the problems he wants to fix have been there for so long. But I truly hope he pulls it off. It’s probably too late for me to experience the right environment again, but perhaps it will be there for future soldiers in that unit. When my time in the army reserves is over, I will leave satisfied that I made my area a better place overall. I might limp across the finish line, or even fall short of it altogether, but I did my job and did it well. And no one can ever take that from me, no matter what’s left of me at this point.

Thanks for stopping by Story of My Life this week. Good day, God bless.


Milestones and Reflections

This past week, my blog surpassed 400 followers from all over the world. Granted, that’s not a huge number, but it’s still an amazing milestone to me, considering I write for my own pleasure and therapy. I didn’t set out to create any kind of following for this site, only a place for me to put some thoughts somewhere, like a way to journal. Originally, Story of My Life was a place for me to do some writing during my deployment to Afghanistan and share a few things with my family and friends. After returning from war, I took a two-year break from posting here. I then started using Story of My Life again in February 2016, as an outlet for self-therapy and recovery. Based on the number of followers, comments and likes on the posts, it seems like a lot of people can relate to what I’m putting out there.

As I celebrate a very modest milestone, I also want reflect on Story of My Life and share with some of you that might not know the progression this blog has taken the last couple of years and why I post (almost) every week. I say progression of this blog, but in reality, it’s my progression. These are my thoughts, feelings, experiences that I share here. Some entries are comical or silly. Some are dark and painful. Some are rants, usually complaining about dealing with the VA. I’ve posted poetry and short fiction stories, but mostly, real-life stories of me surviving my life.

While my first blog post to Story of My Life was 5 years ago, it’s only been in the last two years that I started a new journey of using weekly writing as therapy and sharing my story with the world. The beginning of this new journey started with me opening up about a failed suicide attempt, being taken to the psych ward at the hospital in hand cuffs by the police, and being diagnosed with PTSD and major depression. From there, I shared what I saw as obvious irony in the fact that I attempted suicide, being that I was the lead trainer in suicide prevention training in most of my army reserve units. Ironic, in a twisted way, I know.

I’ve shared stories from my deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, stories about my kids, and I’ve written some entertaining fictional stories. I’ve touched a little on the end of my marriage and I’ve exposed some of the flaws with the VA that veterans have to deal with. I’ve written about the struggles I have from time to time with depression and suicidal thoughts. I’ve also written about some of the victories I’ve had the last two years, which include sharing a couple excerpts and progress from the novel I’m writing (yes, still working on that). I’ve written about the weather, traffic, youth sports, investing, the Mississippi River, and I’ve shared some about my civilian job in a few posts. I cover most everything that pops into my head in any given week. We can all see the pros and cons in that. But I do it anyway.

I write every week and post it here because it helps me. I am able to sort my thoughts and put them in some kind of order that makes sense to me. It’s a way to track my progress as well as my low points. Each post gives me a record of what I was doing or thinking and I can go back any time and see what was on my mind. I know, I can do the same thing without putting it on a blog, but I feel that making some of these stories public forces me to put more thought and effort into this project. And I know that my story helps other people, too, which is a bonus for my motivation to keep writing and sharing. Knowing there are people out there that can relate to my issues and mental illness is helpful to me as well. I appreciate all the likes and comments of support on my posts each week.

I do this for me. But I also do it for everyone else that hasn’t found their voice yet in speaking up comfortably about their own mental illness. I share it with the world so that someone that might be in the dark places of the mind, like I have been, know they aren’t alone. If you need help, reach out. If you know someone that needs help, help them find help. You don’t have to be a professional to help someone that is thinking about suicide. You only have to get them to someone that is (hospital, police, fire station, National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1.800.273.8255). Helping is easier than you think.

For those of you that might be new to Story of My Life and want to get a bigger picture of my story, below are some links to previous posts that will highlight my journey the last two years.  (the beginning of my new journey)

Thank you all for your support, I hope that I am returning the favor in some small way here. And thank you for stopping by this week. Good day, God bless.




For the vast majority of us that serve in the military, we simply do a job. It’s not completely unlike jobs in the civilian world. The military has human resources, cooks, IT personnel, police officers, engineers, management, instructors, lawyers, doctors, and the list goes on. I’ve had three jobs with the army. Construction Surveyor, Wire Systems Installer, and my current job, Chaplain Assistant. And for my current job, I’m also an instructor. It’s not always exciting, but I like it. And that’s how it usually works for most of us, both in the military and the civilian world.

There are a select few in the military that become part of elite groups. Special Forces, Rangers, Sappers, and others. (Sappers are like the Rangers, but for smart kids- LOL). I was never part of any of those distinguished groups. But, while I was deployed to Iraq, I was part of a very small, very special group that had carried out a number of extremely important missions. The group was made up of myself, a Navy Chaplain Assistant, and an Air Force Chaplain Assistant. The three of us shared an office in the chapel at Camp Bucca, Iraq.

We were part of J.F.D.R.T (pronounced jif-dirt). And don’t try to Google it, you won’t find anything about it. It was that big of a secret. Either that, or maybe because the three of us made it up. J.F.D.R.T. stands for Joint Forces Dessert Recovery Team. Ok, we made it up. The three of us shared many a meal together at the Camp Bucca Dining Facility and after each meal, one of us would go on the mission of retrieving dessert for the group. As I said, extremely important missions. Thus began the long and storied tradition of J.F.D.R.T.


T/Sgt Espino, me, and RP2 Davis.  J.F.D.R.T. outside the Camp Bucca Chapel.

Maybe it wasn’t so much a long and storied tradition as much as it was us trying to survive the boredom at Camp Bucca. The three of us each had important jobs taking care of our troops as part of our Unit Ministry Teams. Unfortunately, our jobs basically kept us at desks for most of our deployment, unless we were escorting our chaplains to the TIF (Theater Internment Facility) at the south end of the compound to provide chaplain support to those in our unit doing guard duty. My job in Iraq was sometimes monotonous and boring, but it wasn’t terribly hard. And fortunately, I worked with some great people that kept it entertaining.


See? They look entertaining.

Coming from different branches of the military, each member of J.F.D.R.T. ribbed each other about who was better: the army, the navy, or the air force. Obviously, the army, but I played along so they wouldn’t get their feelings hurt. And the two of them piled on me about being a reservist. They were both active duty. We played great practical jokes on each other. We got on each other’s nerves and we also put up with each other. We helped each other out, covered shifts for each other, and when we could, we made fun of each other. We were family. Sometimes dysfunctional, just like blood family. But we always had each other’s back, no matter what. And we always had dessert when we ate together.


I miss those guys. J.F.D.R.T. may not have been real, but being part of it helped get us through a stretch of deployment and made it a little more bearable. Thanks for taking the time to stop by Story of My Life. Good day, God bless.



Who Are You?

I was mobilized for my second deployment in 2013, this time to Afghanistan. I was a chaplain assistant in the Army Reserves and was being cross-leveled and reunited with some great people that I previously served with. I was going back to the 143d ESC family, this time with the command. I had previously been in a battalion within that organization where I was a chaplain assistant to the chaplain I would now be going to war with. We would spend more than a month that summer at Ft. Hood, Texas, training for the upcoming mission.

During that time at Ft. Hood, it was to be decided which personnel would be going to Kuwait with the main body and who would be going to Kabul, Afghanistan and be attached to the 1st TSC to become part of their mission. I was going to Afghanistan. Then it changed. Then it changed again. When the rosters were finally finalized, my chaplain and I were in fact going to Afghanistan. A group of 80 of us, or so, left Ft. Hood on August 8, stayed a day and a half in Kyrgyzstan, then arrived in Kabul on August 12.

Believe it or not, there was some miscommunication between the unit I was in and the unit I was being attached to in Afghanistan. I know, right? Miscommunication in the army? No way! Believe it. When my chaplain and I got there with the rest of the soldiers being attached to the TSC, the chaplain and I were not on the TSC’s list to be there. “Who are you? Why are you here? We weren’t expecting a Unit Ministry Team.” Umm… I’m still getting paid, right?

The new unit wasn’t sure what to do with us and didn’t have office space for us. The Chief of Staff for the TSC told my chaplain and I to go see the chaplain with USFOR-A, at his office in the basement, and ask if they had anything we could do or help with until the TSC figured out what to do with us. (USFOR-A = U.S. Forces-Afghanistan). The Chief of Staff  told us to work with USFOR-A, do what they do, and that we would get some office space with the unit soon enough. So, we went to the basement and integrated ourselves in with the USFOR-A chaplain team. That miscommunication ended up being a good thing for my chaplain and me as far as I’m concerned. It was like getting bonus adventures on what was already going to be an exciting deployment.

By the third day of the deployment, I was already getting outside the wire on missions with the USFOR-A chaplain team going to other local bases in Kabul. We were told to work with them and do what they do. So, we did. The USFOR-A chaplain team was busy, always going somewhere. Some of the missions I went on with them included taking the USFOR-A Command Chaplain to meetings, picking up the AFCENT chaplain for a visit, attending the weekly NATO ceremony at ISAF (International Security Assistance Force), and more.




My usual view from the passenger seat while TSgt Hivner drove, in and around Kabul.

On a side note, the USFOR-A Command Chaplain at the time was CH (COL) Hurley. He’s now a two-star general and the U.S. Army Chief of Chaplains. To this day, he is still the only chaplain to make me drop and do push-ups. But eventually, he warmed up to my sense of humor. And I’m sure that working with me is what set him apart from other candidates for the Chief job. He probably used me as a reference. Ok, that last part might not be true. (This would be one of those moments when CH Hurley might tell me to do push-ups).




Left:  CH Hurley after a chapel service at ISAF.  Right:  Me and my chaplain at the left,  CH Hurley and CH Fredrick on the right, SGM England and Air Force TSgt Hivner (Both USFOR-A chaplain assistants) kneeling.

One mission I went on with the USFOR-A chaplain assistant was to get a vehicle serviced. More specifically, to get the Duke system updated. The Duke is a device mounted on a vehicle that jams remote controlled IEDs. Some improvised explosive devices would be placed on convoy routes and could be detonated from a distance by the enemy with a cell phone or other type of remote control. Our Duke was non-operational that day. Completely dead. We had to make the short trip to Camp Phoenix without the protection it offered. But we made it there without incident.


Me and CH Mac at Camp Phoenix, Kabul, AFG, 2013.

On another mission with the USFOR-A chaplain team, we walked from our base to ISAF. It was a short walk, but to me, it was very exciting. It was a close-up view of the area that I could not get in a convoy or on a helicopter. I filmed the whole thing with a camera attached to my gear. I had my long rifle and my sidearm with me, both locked and loaded, both ready to go if needed. The following week, we were set to walk to ISAF again, staging behind the back entrance of the building we worked in. Keep in mind, we were told by the Chief of Staff to work with USFOR-A and do what they do. Imagine the surprise my chaplain and I had when our Command Sergeant Major showed up, about to pop a blood vessel in his forehead after finding out we did a walking mission the previous week, telling us that we are not authorized to leave the base on foot. He was livid. We made other transportation arrangements and still completed the mission.

I thought we were going to be in trouble, well me, not so much the chaplain. When a Command Sergeant Major expresses his displeasure with you or your actions the way mine did that day, it can often mean you are in some sort of trouble. But, there was nothing in writing saying we couldn’t walk and we hadn’t been told not to. And the Chief of Staff told us to do what they do. We simply ended up being told to not do that again. Two positive things did come from that day. First, the entire command was given a memo very specifically detailing the proper procedures for going on any mission, to include prohibiting any walking missions. I should get a ribbon on my uniform for effecting such important change in a two-star command. Second, they finally gave us office space upstairs with the rest of the unit. I guess they wanted to keep a closer eye on us.

Thanks for stopping by this week and checking out my 100th post to Story of My Life. Good day, God bless.