Today we had a ceremony onboard the ship to remember the life of a Sailor in my department that tragically took their own life. During the ceremony, a slide show was playing pictures of his life. Pictures like the one above. In his pictures, all I could see is Jack and Emma.
The first time I switched roles, so to speak, was at Brendan Looney's funeral. Jack was almost a year and a half old and Emma had just been born. At the time, I was a Company Officer at USNA and attended his funeral with several friends. Sitting in an aisle seat, I watched as his Father, Kevin, made a long, heart-wrenching walk down the nave of the National Cathedral. I felt the pain of a lost Shipmate. Harder though, I felt the pain of a grieving Father who had lost his Son.
That same pain resonated within the steel of the ship on the foc'sle today. I saw the hope of a Mother and Father cut painfully short. I saw the devastation and guilt felt by his parents and those he loved. I saw Jack. I saw Emma. I saw our unborn child.
I want Jack's last check he ever writes to bounce. I want Emma to leave this earth skydiving on her 100th birthday. I want our unborn child to know the anticipation of having their own unborn child. Grandchild. Great-grandchild.
I want the parents of my Sailors to know that in their children, I see their Jack. I see their Emma. I know their children represent their hope for good in the world. I know their children represent their life's work.
And to Jack, Emma and our newest one on the way (Hank, Cora, Hadley...) your Mother and I love you unconditionally. Our love for you will never stop, no matter what path life takes you down. I will walk a road through hell by your side, holding your hand the entire way.
-Matt
