Chapter+26

The gift the human eye gives us is a marvelous thing; it gives us sight. It gives us the ability to see all that goes on. Well, in the physical world, at least. Hardly ever will your eyesight deceive you, turning your gift of vision into an invaluable tool when it comes to, well, anything.

Sight is essential to living. It is also something that is taken for granted. Unfortunately, because God or evolution (depending on your point of view and belief) did not grant humans awesome eye protection, sight can quickly be taken from you.

One person who would know how it feels is Jeremy Feldbusch.

Jeremy Feldbusch was a mortar man during his stint in Iraq. As a mortar man, he was designated to guard specific points deemed strategic and blast the hell out of anything that got too close to it. Kind of like an overprotective Vietnam veteran when it came to his daughter dating. His regiment was well-traveled, being ordered to patrol around Baghdhad one day, then the next day being sent to Tikrit to quell die-hard supporters of Saddamn Hussein. Jeremy didn't mind this though; he felt like a tourist who was being given a special first-person perspective view of the country, even though half the time it seemed to be in flames.

Soon, he would be ordered to the western province of Al Anbar, near the Euphrates, to patrol the ancient Haditha dam because any damage to it would cause the wall to rupture and flood the surrounding towns. Jeremy Feldbusch did not think much of this job, mostly because the town of Haditha itself seemed to be a very quiet, reserved town. He told everyone in his regiment, "If there are any insurgents here, I'll give all of you $50."

Little did Jeremy know that he would be in deep debt because Haditha was actually becoming a stronghold for insurgents, though slowly. They began plotting to attack the forces stationed near the dam. The reason why? It wasn't because they were guarding the dam, which held little importance. The true reason was simply because they were American.

Just days after Jeremy made his bold claim, his group was attacked under the cover of night. He happened to be sleeping in his ten, but was fully uniformed and armed. In a matter of seeconds, he was up to see the source of all the commotion. He popped his head outside of the sent to see the outline of an artillery shell make its path to a nearby friendly tank. The tank did not stand a chance and was blown to bits. The bits began obeying the laws of physics and flew everywhere, with Jeremy just retreating in time before a chunk of metal tore through the canvas of the tent.

People were srambling everywhere. Soldiers, townspeople, no matter. Both were equally rightened and afraid that they were going to die. In special moments like these, people become one and united under the cause of agony and confusion; no one is above another because when it all is said and done, no one is capable of withstanding a bomb, or artillery shell, or anything else that goes boom.

During this period of confusion, Jeremy ran out, yelling commands such as, "Get inside a building!" or, "Take cover!" but since a majority of the scrambling people were Iraqis, his advice went unheeded. He began to turn back for his tent to radio for help when heard a sound he dreaded: the sound of an artillery shell on course to impact where he was standing.

Now, unlike most other weapons, which sound the same when being fired at your or around you, artillery shells have their own special distinguishing factor. Usually, when they're launching to impact far enough form you not to cause damage, they make a sort of looping, whistley sound. But on those special occasions when the shell is launched to impact at you, that looping, whistley sound mutates and omes a sharp, hawk-like sound.

On that special day, Jeremy Feldbusch heard that special sound for that special purpose.

The artillery shell hit the ground 100 feet away from Jeremy, but the shrapnel created by the shell continued the purpose of the shell, and a special bit of shrapnel went speeding into Jeremy's right eye. The wee, ickle bit of shrapnel did not stop there as it continued to venture to the left side of Jeremy's brain, where it lodged and severely damaged the optic nerve of his left eye, along with leaving bone splinters around to keep the shrapnel fragment company. Jeremy screamed in agony. Pain as he had never felt. He thought his lack of sight was due to being blinded by this pain. The sounds of shells continued overhead, but he lay there, writhing and pressing on his face, which was issuing copious amounts of what felt like blood. It was there that he passed out and did not awake for five weeks.

During the span of those five weeks, Jeremy was observed by doctors and allowed to be sent back home. When he was revived, he still could not see, but did not think much of it because he still was in pain; nothing a bit of morphine couldn't handle. Amongst the voices of doctors, he heard the anxious tones of what he hoped to be his parents. "Mom? Dad" he asked. "Jeremy?" his parents said in unison. "Thank God it's you two," he said before passing out again.

When Jeremy awoke three days later, he still could not see. He began to get angry, as well as frightened. He called for his parents, with his mother andwering him. He asked what was to become of him. "I'm sorry son, I don't know," was her answer.

The next day, Jeremy's doctor's announced him legally blind. Perhaps permanently. His mother broke down in tears. It pained Jeremy that he could not see her face, maybe ever. His father said nothing initially, then said he was going to pray. He left. "Why didn't he say anything?" Jeremy asked, his temper rising again by his father's lack of showing remorse at the news. "If only you could have seen his face," she answered.

After an hour or so, Jeremy heard footsteps. He asked if it was his dad, and the owner of the footsteps said yes. Jeremy immediately asked him why did he go. "I went to ask God something," he said. "What did you ask Him?" "I asked him, 'Why did you have to take away my son's eyes?'" This took Jeremy by surprise.

Two weeks later, Jeremy received a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. Jeremy took it as the Army's way of giving him a consolation prize. His mother continued staying at his bedside table and his father continued to pray to God.

After another two weeks, God had responded to Jeremy's father's question. He relayed the information to his son. "Apparently, God wanted you to not have to see people die," said his father. "Typical God. Always giving amibguous answeres." Jeremy laughed. It was the first time he had laughed for a long time.

Jeremy does his best to live a normal life. Unfortunately, having something foreign inside of your brain doesn't held normalcy prevail. There are many side effects he has to deal with. He is now left extremely sensitive to physical conditions to the point where the wind causes him pain. He's also had to endure a lower-level of taste and smell. He is prone to seizures and also mood swings. Jokingly, he refers to his mood swings as "post-war menopause."

His parents do the best they can do for their now-handicapped child. Despite all these new, unpleasant conditions they do their best for him. Why? Because he's their child.

Information obtained from: CommonDreams.org Actual newspaper: The New York Times Author: Jeffrey Gettleman Article name: A Soldier's Return, to a Dark and Moody World Link to article: http://www.commondreams.org/headlines03/1230-02.htm

Essay written by: Ted Relato, Slacker Extraordinaire.