His Words

By Darla Reed

It’s tough to be a Ranger’s Wife,
Her man must give his only life.
She looks to the sky and wonders why,
For Freedoms cause that he must die.

O, Hale O, Hale O, Infantry,
Queen of battle Follow me,
The Ranger life’s the one for me,
For nothing in this world is free.

Even though Joe sent this cadence to me, I never imagined that “[giving] his only life” would be our reality. He was a West Point graduate, a Gulf War veteran, a Captain in the Army, a son, a brother, and my husband. In this memoir, I relate my loss and how I found courage to keep moving on. In between the pages of grief and healing, I tell our story — how we met and fell in love and the challenges that came with Joe’s conversion to Mormonism and being an interracial couple in the late 1980’s. The silver lining for me in this tragedy was found in the precious box of letters and journal entries he left behind. As I raised our young children, I would read his hand-written words each night, and for a moment it felt like he was there, sitting right by my side, encouraging me and giving me advice. His example of integrity, patriotism, unwavering faith in God and love for his family has strengthened me, and left a legacy for his children. Now, as I share "His Words", he can continue to inspire all who struggle through life’s hardships.

A portion of the proceeds will be donated to T.A.P.S. (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darla Reed
• Release date: Sep 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301272143

Darla Reed

I'm a military widow and mother to three amazing children and I am a Mormon. My 20 year old son is on a 2 year mission in Ghana, Africa. My daughters, a junior and senior in high school, have kept me busy with sports, student council, pageants, singing and acting. I finished my BA in Integrative Studies as I juggled their schedules and am now a Manager with Lifewave. As I anticipated the 10 year anniversary of my husbands death, I decided I wanted to write a book about his incredible life. He inspired many people while here and I didn't want that to end, especially with his own children. The book I've written is for them but I hope also to inspire others with the legacy he left behind.

Book preview

HIS

WORDS

DARLA REED

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Darla Reed

All rights reserved.

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN-13: 978-1480064843

ISBN-10: 148006484X

ASIN: B009KB44VG

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

FOR HIS CHILDREN

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Forward

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1. The End and the Beginning

2. From the Beginning

3. The Past... My Favorite Place to Go

4. Falling

5. Lead Me, Guide Me, Walk Beside Me, Help Me Find the Way I Pray!

6. Called to Serve

7. Through the Fire

8. For All Eternity

9. You Don’t Get Over It, You Have to Go Through It

10. Storms Will Come

11. Children are an Heritage of the Lord

12. Keep on Movin’

13. A Time to Laugh

14. Carrying On

15. Always Near

16. Happily Ever After — The New Version

About The Author

FORWARD

It was opening day of Yankee Stadium, Friday the 13, 2012. The sky was picturesque, the energy was spectacular, the Yankees were about to take on the California Angels.

A giant American flag was unfurled by West Point cadets in the plush green grass of center field. The colors were marched onto the field by the West Point Color Guard with the overpowering white façade of Yankee Stadium, filling in as a big brother. As they started playing the National Anthem, my eyes were misty as they always are, as I’m pleasantly reminded of my dear friend, US Army Officer and fellow coach, Joe Reed. Joe and I were basketball coaches at the US Military Academy where he shared with me his love for the flag and for West Point during our many drives around its spectacular campus. Thinking of Joe also reminded me that Doubleday Field at West Point is where Abner Doubleday founded baseball. Into the last stanza, O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave, 2 Navy F-18 Super Hornets buzzed the stadium. Bedlam ensued as New Yorkers were jumping up and down, fired up for a new season of baseball. Meanwhile I was weeping like a baby, thanking my buddy Joe and all of his fellow soldiers who taught me the meaning of the word sacrifice. No greater gift can we receive than those men and women who have died so valiantly, so we can live in freedom.

Six days later through the power of social media, I got a message from Darla. She informed me of the book she has written about Joe.

Once again, I’m overcome with great gratitude. For my buddy, Joe was a special, special man, whose time with us was cut way too short. Joe loved many things, but his three most important loves were his faith, his family and his country.

I shared with Darla, the feeling I have every time I hear the National Anthem. I am reminded of this friendly but stern lecture I received from Joe, about the importance of it and the symbolism that it evokes. It hit me again on Memorial Day, when I took my family to Baltimore to see not only the Orioles, but also Fort McHenry where Francis Scott Key wrote the Star Spangled Banner. The words in our National Anthem stir up even more emotion with the reminder of the battle which took place and of those who fought to defend their homes, their families and their freedom. A year before this battle, Major Armistead, commander of Fort McHenry, asked for a flag so big that The British would have no trouble seeing it from a distance. Like John Hancock who signed his name on the Declaration of Independence big enough so the king would not need his spectacles to read it, Joe had that same confidence and bravado when he was fighting for something he believed in - the battle was now joined.

I’m so overjoyed that Darla has taken on this project. Joe was a once in a life time guy, who will now be remembered for all time.

I would ask you while reading this treasure, to grab a box of Kleenex and YouTube The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Any version will do, my favorite so far is Judy Garland, but the last lyric blows me away when thinking of Joe Reed, the man, the father, the husband, the son, the officer, the coach, the friend.

"In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea,

With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me.

As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on."

Joe lived and died preserving our God-given right to freedom. There is no question, right now he is marching on and doing drills in heaven, watching over all of us and blushing that Darla would be so considerate to go out of her way for the children in preserving his legacy.

Tim O’Toole

ESPN College Basketball Analyst

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to Cathy Hill, who was the first person to tell me that I should write a book. Thanks to John Bytheway, who gave me the little push I needed with his talk on CD, Turn off the TV and Get a Life! He gave up late night TV in order to wake up early to write his first book. Thank you for continuing to inspire me and my children, John. I’m grateful to the Lord for waking me up at 4:30 the morning after I resolved to start. He continued to wake me up day after day, at that exact time. I was filled with energy and with a strong desire to write our story. I thank my mom and dad for raising me with love and trust and encouragement. I’m grateful to my siblings; (an amazing support group) Dawney, David, Dennis, Danette, Dale, Doug, and Diana and for their spouses; Gene, Kathy, Carolyn, Tim, Sharron, and Evan. A huge thank you to my editors: Mom, Danette, Kathy Baker, Enid Landry, and my professional editor, Ruth Pagan. You are true friends who sacrificed your precious time to edit and re-edit and edit again. An extra special thank you to Danette for the countless hours on the phone giving me feedback and encouragement and the prodding I needed. Thank you to Sharron Cathcart who gave me the idea to have everyone write to Joe’s children after his death and for you and MegAnn’s input on the book. Thank you to my niece, Wendy, who did the graphics on the cover and the blog. Thank you to my niece, Amber for your willingness to send me manuscripts during editing.

Thank you to Joe’s parents, Mary and Joseph, for raising such an incredible individual. Your devotion and love for me and the children will never be forgotten. Thank you to Joe’s sisters, Vonda and Daria, and their spouses, Damon and Corey for your love and time and support. Thank you to my cousin, Samantha for your friendship.

Thank you to my closest neighbors, Kayla and Alan Thurber, Kim and Bob Harrington, and Theresa and James Nally, who have all rendered service to me in my many moments in need.

Thank you to Agnes, my dear friend, who always understands me and helps me to understand others.

Thank you to my children, whose confidence in me has made me stand a little taller.

To Dawney, I don’t claim to be a great writer, but any ability of writing I do have, can be traced back to that first journal you gave me so many years ago, thank you.

INTRODUCTION

Many people idealize their loved ones after they die. The therapist kindly explained to me. He didn’t understand. I talked about my husband that way when he was alive. Right after his death some of his friends and family members sent letters to our children, sharing something they remembered about Joe. This gave me proof that I wasn’t just making it up. Their father really did live an exemplary life.

I met Joe for the first time during church services at West Point. He was a cow (junior) and I was a new plebe (freshman). At West Point, the plebes must stand at attention and address the upper-class as Sir or Ma’am. Those rules changed, however, at church. At church we were all friends and called each other by our first names. I remember having a difficult time calling Cadet Reed by his first name because of his austere physical demeanor. Joe was tall and strong and he carried himself like he was a general (a rank that Joe would have easily attained). He simply commanded respect by his very presence. After being reassured several times that it was appropriate to call him Joe, we became very good friends.

Damon Owens

"I met Joe eight years ago at the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York. We played against one another in a basketball tournament. Joe was a cadet at West Point. Like most of the cadets, he was in excellent shape. He had been on the Army basketball team and he was a great player. He almost single-handedly whipped our team that day on the court. I was impressed by Joe. He was not only a gifted athlete, but there was much more to him. He played with real class and sportsmanship. He was having fun and his teammates were also enjoying the game - but not at our team’s expense. They all played with sportsmanship. Joe was definitely the leader of their team. I immediately respected him. He smiled a lot. I’ll always remember Joe’s smile. The kind of smile that lights up and is contagious. He was confident yet sincere and genuine. I knew from that first encounter that Joe Reed was a good guy.

He was unselfish - passing the ball many times when he could have easily shot it in himself. He complimented players on both teams and offered his hand to help a player back to his feet after a fall. I’ve participated in and observed many competitive athletic events in my life and I’ll never forget the first impression that I had of Joe. I thought - what a class act! We lost the game badly. I didn’t care that much. I wanted to meet this guy. After the game, he smiled and introduced himself. We sat on the floor in the gym. As we watched the next game, Joe told me about himself."

Kevin Doman

Once when we went to Willcox for Doug’s home coming, he took me for a walk, it was about a 45 minute walk and then he would talk to me and ask me how I was doing. He would always tell me how grades are important and should come first before sports. I always enjoyed talking to him and visiting with him.

Aaron Malaela

From the six page letter to the small note written by a 10 year old boy, all of these messages fit together like a puzzle, each letter a significant piece, revealing the whole portrait. Added to the letters from those who knew him are his own words in the form of hand written journal entries and multiple letters, as well as cassette tapes of him talking to me. These are a lost art but were the common choice of communication just one generation ago. I called these my letters from heaven. As I read and listened to his words from so long ago, I found advice and reassurance and pieces of his character that I had over-looked or had taken for granted. This book is a compilation of these words. This is the legacy he left for his children. This is our story.

CHAPTER 1

The End and the Beginning

At 7:00 AM the door bell rang. Not long before, J.R., my little three and a half year old boy, had climbed into bed with me. What did you dream, Mommy?

With my arm now around him, he burrowed into my side as I tried to share with him what I could remember of my dreams.

I was in the commissary and then the cereal aisle turned into lockers at a school. I couldn’t open my locker and I was late for class. And then I started to panic because I couldn’t remember who was taking care of you and Jazi!

J.R. giggled, You’re silly mommy!

Shh, we don’t want Jazi to wake up yet, I reminded him. What did you dream, J.?

Tigger took the honey pot from Pooh and I helped Pooh find it. I followed the bees and jumped like Tigger. And then I telled Tigger to give it back and he did. Then we had a party.

Just like his daddy, his dreams were one long adventure. Joe’s dreams usually resembled a scene right out of one of his favorite Tom Clancy novels. I liked when he shared the movie that played in his head at night, especially when he acted it out. I remember one in particular, I heard someone in the house, so I grabbed you and rolled us off the bed. I grabbed my gun as I low crawled across the floor to the bedroom doorway and stood up with my back to the wall. I peeked around the opened door to see him heading into the kids rooms. Before he knew what was comin’ I put my rifle around his neck and put him to the ground. One punch was all it took to knock that knuckle-head out!

I pulled my little pooh bear close and he held onto me tighter in response.

Mommy, where’d daddy go?

Daddy went to Arizona to fly his helicopter. I whispered, knowing that once Jasmine sounded the alarm, my work day would have to begin. Daddy will be able to see all our family in Arizona while he’s there.

J.R. tried to climb on top of me but my growing belly didn’t allow it, so he reluctantly returned to my side. I pictured my life in three short months: nursing my new born, eighteen month old Jasmine crying for her baba and my son wanting a hug, while Mommy, Mommy, Mommy played in surround sound. How would I juggle three children? I didn’t have enough arms! Joe joked that we would have to switch from man to man to a zone defense!

So why was the doorbell ringing so early in the morning? A construction worker from across the street, I guessed. A new home was being built and I had had quite a few early morning visitors asking to use my hose to fill their water jugs. I slowly rolled out of bed, with J.R. by my side hugging my leg as I walked. I sighed with disappointment that our blissful introduction to the day had been interrupted.

I squinted through the peep-hole in the door. Three officers in dress greens, and Gina, the wife of our battalion commander looked back at me. Joe had left only four days ago. His battalion was going to Ft. Huachuca, Arizona for a month, to help with the border patrol. I was actually fine with him being gone for a month. I told him to write me love letters. I even looked forward to missing him and to anticipating our dramatic, romantic reunion. As the wife of the company commander, I took on the role of helping the wives in his company. I assured one wife who was very upset about a whole month without her husband, It’ll help him appreciate you and it’ll be fun when he returns. It keeps your marriage exciting! I had even organized a picnic for the wives that Saturday before, to help those who were already feeling lonely. Joe had tried to call while I was out. I was expecting him to call back that day or at least on Sunday, but he never did.

So here it was, Monday morning, and all of these military personnel were at my door. My stomach dropped, Joe’s been hurt, I thought as I opened the door.

One of the officers said, Mrs. Reed, may we come in?

Gina didn’t say anything. We had become friends since we worked together, but as I looked to her for reassurance she quickly looked down.

Has Joe been hurt? I asked.

Please sit down Mrs. Reed.

Is he okay?

Please sit down Mrs. Reed.

I walked to the couch with all of them walking behind me. Gina sat by my side and the other officers sat on the love seat to my right. I was not prepared for what came next, Joe must have had some serious injuries. I thought.

The same officer who had been the spokesperson knelt down on one knee and said, Mrs. Reed, on behalf of the United States Army, we regret to inform you that your husband, Captain Joseph Oliver Reed III has been killed as a result of...

What did he just say? I tuned him out. I just stared at him. He then started explaining that Joe’s helicopter had collided with another. I was listening but I didn’t feel what he was saying. I was saying to myself No, that can’t be right. This couldn’t have happened to him. He’s so strong. He’s so safe. We studied the safety procedures almost every night.

Ma’am, we’re here to help you, we’ll do whatever you need us to do.

I stared at him for awhile and said, Could you leave?

He replied quickly, No ma’am, we won’t do that. We’ll be here for the day.

I really wanted everyone to leave. I just needed to be alone, to let this sink in, to be able to comprehend what he just told me. I felt like if they went away then this strange news would go away.

I searched the room as if searching for an answer. How could this be? How could this happen? What will I do? Joe, where are you? How could this happen to you? My wandering eyes stopped on the picture above the fireplace. Joe had been driven to get that picture framed and placed there. I was even thinking he was a little too anxious about it. I had other priorities. Now, that picture spoke to me like it never had before. It was a picture of where we were married. It might look like just a picture of a beautiful building to some, but to a Mormon it’s a symbol of our faith. In that building, we were promised forever. Joe and I did not say till death do we part when we were married in that building, we said for time and all eternity. It was as if Joe were speaking to me now and reminding me of this truth; that our union did not end with his death. We would be together again as husband and wife. A small amount of peace seeped into my troubled heart as I gazed at the temple and then at the small framed picture of our family, which I’d placed in front of it on the mantle.

The officer interrupted my thoughts, Ma’am, where do you keep your important papers?

Everything is in the file cabinet, in our bedroom. Is someone from the Army going to visit my husbands’ parents?

No ma’am.

Then I have to call them. I got up and grabbed the phone without even thinking it through, I just started dialing, knowing I had to tell them. I hadn’t even internalized what had happened when I was saying hello to Mamie.

Mamie, is Pop there? Please get Pop on the phone.

Gina was sitting next to me. I don’t remember if I waited for my father-in-law to get on the phone when I tried to say it, Joe has been. . .

I started to sob and handed the phone to Gina. I wish I would’ve had the strength to tell them, I wish I would’ve stayed on the line. But Gina was the one to break it to them. I quickly gained composure and took the phone, I remember hearing my father-in-law repeating, Tell me it’s not true, Darla, tell me it’s not true!

Suddenly everything and everyone seemed to be moving faster. I had to make a list of people I would want notified.

I went into our bedroom to call my parents. That’s when I had to say the words. Joe’s helicopter went down and he was killed.

It felt like someone else was saying it. I broke down again, our conversation was short. They would call my siblings for me.

Once I had control of my emotions, I walked out of the bedroom. I can’t remember how many soldiers were in my home at the time, but they were entertaining the children. Jasmine had woken up and she was not at all disturbed by the crowd in our home. In fact, she was already jabbering with the soldiers and was thrilled that she had their undivided attention.

She has been social since day one. One time, while shopping in the commissary (she was just over one year old) I was letting her walk by the cart. While I decided on which can of green beans to get she disappeared. I frantically looked around, finally spotting her down at the other end of the aisle, jabbering away with a nice elderly couple. They were looking at her as if they understood every word. I frequently told people she spoke Swahili. So as I walked into the front room Jasmine smiled at me and continued to bask in this rare moment of having such an attentive audience to entertain.

J.R. turned and ran to me to ask where I had been and why these men were in our house. As I looked at him I remembered his last moments with his daddy, You take care of your mommy and your sister. You’re the man of the house while Daddy is gone.

He stared at me, quiet and still in contrast to the commotion behind him. I took him back into our bedroom where I could concentrate on him. How could this little boy understand what I was about to say? How could I tell him his daddy wasn’t coming home anymore? As I squatted down to be at his level, tears started flowing as I thought of what to say to my son.

Why you crying Mommy? He wiped my tears with his little fingers.

J.R., Mommy has to tell you something.

Are you sad?

Yes, Mommy’s sad.

Why are the soldiers here Mommy?

They came here to tell us what happened to Daddy. He just looked at me with those big beautiful brown eyes. J.R., Daddy’s helicopter fell out of the sky and he died, and he’s in heaven now.

Oh.

I could tell he couldn’t grasp what I’d just told him. I couldn’t even grasp what I’d just told him.

Our little talk was interrupted, Ma’am, we have some questions for you.

The telephone rang continuously, forms to fill out, funeral service questions, where I want him to be buried, do I want him to be sent here to Ft. Bragg first? I just wanted everyone to go away, and I wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

My sister, Danette, was able to fly in that same day because she had been in Florida on a business trip. I love my sister, she’s my dear friend. We hugged. She cried. I was numb, as if I were dreaming all of this, but in