American Wife (11 page)

Ryan and his wife were expecting their first child in 2009 when Ryan went into the hospital for what seemed like a routine operation, part of follow-up treatment for his wounds. Tragically, he ended up dying.

I remember looking at his wife at the funeral, so brave yet so devastated, and wondering to myself how we could live in such a cruel world.

My enduring vision of Ryan is outside one of the hospitals where he was recovering from an operation. He was in his wheelchair with some of the Team guys. Head bandaged and clearly in pain, he asked to be pointed toward the American flag that flew in the hospital yard; once there, he held his hand up in a long and poignant salute, still a patriot.

BACK WITH US

It may not have been directly related to my fears for Chris when he was gone, but I grew more apprehensive about being alone with the children in the house. We lived in a relatively quiet suburb, and yet—what would I do if there was an intruder?

Before we had kids, the answer was simple: I'd hide or run away. I didn't want to hurt anyone, even a thief. But now that I had children my attitude changed:

Take one step inside my house and I will put a bullet through your skull.

One day after he'd returned home from the Ramadi deployment, Chris and I went down to a gun range. As he showed me some of the basics, I started asking questions.

And more questions.

And more after that.

Why this, and why that.

“Really?” he said finally. “Are you challenging what I said?”

“No, no,” I tried to explain. “I just want to know everything about it.”

Maybe husbands shouldn't teach wives about certain things, and vice versa. I did eventually get pretty good with a gun—but that was after enlisting a friend of Chris's to help teach me. Somehow those sessions were a little easier.

It was during Chris's time back home after Ramadi that Mike Monsoor was killed in Iraq after courageously saving the lives of his fellow SEALs and Iraqi soldiers by leaping on a live grenade. Chris and I attended the service in San Diego.

We stood toward the back of the cemetery as the coffin was prepared for burial. As is customary, the SEALs pounded their Tridents into the top before it was lowered into the ground. I couldn't help but think of the danger Chris had been in, and how thin the line of fate was that kept him from being the one laid to rest.

When the services were over, I went off to see some friends while Chris went with a few of the others to a bar in Coronado. That was the night that the infamous incident with Jesse Ventura occurred or didn't occur, depending on whose account you believe.

I didn't think much of the incident when I heard about it the next day, and I doubt Chris did, though gossip about it spread quickly around the SEAL community. There was no knowing then that the details would eventually become the subject of a court case.

ONE LAST TIME

Chris's time home passed quickly, and in the spring of 2008, his unit was ready to deploy again. This tour, he found himself assigned to the area near Baghdad; he was in and near the notoriously dangerous Sadr City and some of the villages outside the capital for a good stretch of time.

The kids were bigger and more of a handful. I was having trouble keeping up. More and more I felt overwhelmed. I blamed Chris—surely things would have been easier if he had been there.

I would vent to Chris on the phone when he called, then feel sorry.

“I fall apart and then try to explain it all and tell you I am proud of you even though the whole situation is hard,” I wrote in an email after one of those conversations. “I probably don't even need to write all that anymore since you've heard it before and I guess you understand.”

This was his response:

May 2, 2008

Sorry I haven't written but the internet was actually down. Just as I told you that it was dependable. About the emails once every deployment, I don't care if you send them once a week. If you are feeling down and need to talk about it or write about it, then do so. I already told you, I am here for you to cry on, or dump your emotions on. I know these deployments are rough on you, especially now that you need some help with two kids, and all the regular chores of the day. So please feel free to unload your worries and troubles on me. I am glad to hear Bubba is doing so much better. Hopefully he will get over the cold soon. I love to hear that he is saying so much, and climbing in the seat all by himself. Wow. He is shooting up like a weed. Next you're gonna email me saying he was driving my truck. Hope you are feeling better each day. I can imagine how it would feel to have so much to do, and not be able to physically do them. I don't envy you. I do love you so very much. I miss you like crazy. Can't wait to touch you again. Well, I just got back from working, and I am gonna go to bed for a while now. Like three days! I wish, but I do have some down time now. Anyway, take care of yourself and the little ones. Tell them I love them, and give them a hug and a kiss from me. I love you, baby!

Around this time, Chris and his platoon were on a patrol in Baghdad when they came under attack. Chris was shot in the head—fortunately, he was wearing his helmet, and between that and the grace of God, the bullet did nothing more than ring his ears. But for him, I think, it was the start of the end. The impact of the round had slammed his helmet and vision gear down so that he couldn't see; for a moment, he thought he was blind.

While Chris continued to work just as hard as he always had, he was as aware as ever that he was vulnerable—friends had been killed, he'd been hit. At the same time, he had three big reasons to want to come home in one piece: the kids and me.

That didn't change the fact that he loved being a SEAL and was dedicated to saving people. It was just something that clouded his vision of those things.

May 9, 2008

Thank you for all your emails. I loved opening it up and seeing you all over it. You made my week. I love you so much, and miss the hell out of you. I love to hear about the kids and orange poop, too. Hope your gums are feeling better. Do you like your hair the way it is now? Wish I was there to see it for myself. We are really staying busy here. Work is good and the morale is high. The army is in love with us. We have already done so much to save them. They never want us to leave. Good news for me. The quality of life is OK. We all live in open bay, and the food isn't bad, but we aren't here often to enjoy even that. We came in last night and it looked like we just crawled out of the sewer. I had several days' growth on my beard and it caught all the dirt. My face was almost black from all the soot, gunpowder, and everything else. Our uniforms were almost completely brown. By the way, we are wearing army cammies that are more green, so that should tell you how dirty we were. But we are loving what we are doing. I am gonna try to call you tonight. I really miss talking to you. I love to hear your sexy voice and picture being able to see you in front of me. Can't wait to see you again. I gave Mark Spicer your email address and phone number in case he or Diane wanted to talk to you. [Mark Spicer was a British sniper whom Chris had befriended; they would later start Craft together. Diane was his wife.] Hope you don't mind. Tell everyone there I said hi, and tell the kids I love them and miss them. Please give them both a big hug and kiss and tell them it's from daddy. I am sending you tons of them. Just can't wait to deliver them. I love you more than anything in this world, baby. You are everything to me. No more leaving you to fight some war. You are all I need. I honestly feel now I have done my part, and don't mind someone else fighting the next one for me. Take care of yourself, gorgeous. I love you!

While he was in Baghdad, Chris was involved in one other incident that illustrates his character and the lines that he drew.

People have criticized him for his willingness to shoot a woman and her child who had a grenade and were about to blow up American Marines. (The incident is described, though toned down, in the first pages of
American Sniper.
) Though he balked until ordered to shoot, Chris realized that the mother and child were already dead, thanks to the woman's pulling the pin on the grenade. Because of that, his decision to shoot didn't bother him—his action saved a number of Marines.

Contrast that with this incident in Baghdad, also in the book:

A Shia terrorist armed with a grenade launcher attempted to kill American soldiers building a wall around the worst part of the city slums. Chris killed the man, who dropped the grenade launcher. Over the course of several hours, other would-be terrorists attempted to retrieve the launcher. Chris shot them all.

Finally, a young boy was sent to retrieve the launcher.

Under his rules of engagement, Chris was entitled to shoot the boy. In fact, you might replace the word
entitled
with
obligated
—that grenade launcher was clearly going to be used against Americans or Iraqi civilians at some point.

Chris chose not to shoot.

His explanation years later for why he didn't shoot: “I could have, but I couldn't.”

Though the incident was included in
American Sniper,
not one person has ever commented on it, let alone asked him about it, in the course of all that's been written about him and his service.

Maybe that says as much about some of the people who criticized him as it does about Chris.

THE TOLL

By the midpoint of his fourth Iraqi deployment, Chris was exhausted. It wasn't so much that stint in particular as it was all the deployments and special missions that came before it; the cumulative effect on his body—his knees were shot, his hearing damaged—would eventually cause him to be classified as 90 percent disabled, if not more. And that was just the physical side. But he didn't admit it, certainly not to himself.

There were hints, though, and warning signs. In June 2008, while giving me instructions on bidding on a truck he wanted to buy, he mentioned that he couldn't sleep.

At the same time, he was in great demand for special missions and training sessions. Journalists started to ask the command about him, interested in doing stories on his prowess.

The Navy promoted him to chief petty officer while he was in Iraq. That's an important rank, one of the highest an enlisted man can attain. It was a tacit recognition of his contribution to the war. It also meant a little more money for the family, since a pay raise came with it.

As always, Chris was pretty laid back about the promotion. For him, neither promotions nor medals were what serving was all about; protecting others and serving our country were what he'd signed up for.

Toward the end of their scheduled six-month deployment, Chris's platoon went out west. Terrorists were not extremely active in the area, and the number of missions decreased. Chris and his fellow SEALs spent more and more time at their base.

To a civilian back home, that might seem like a good thing—no missions meant less fear. But it had an odd effect on Chris. His blood pressure was surging. He couldn't sleep. It was as if now, when he finally had a chance to relax, everything was finally getting to him.

I'll let him describe it:

August 10, 2008

Well, I guess all the shit has finally caught up to me. Remember the tightness in my chest I was telling you about? I felt like I could never relax, grinding my teeth, felt like curling up in the corner and crying, and my blood pressure is thru the roof. I finally decided to talk to someone because I wasn't able to sleep, and when I could it was nightmares. I just wanted to take a deep breath and relax, but nothing would work. I talked to a doctor here, and looks like I am gonna be sent to Al Asaad in a week or so to see another one. . . .

Looks like I will probably go to Germany a little early. Don't know if that means I will be home early or if I will come home with the rest. They said I won't go home late. They prefer I see a specialist at home, but want to make sure all is good enough before I am resubmerged into the real world. I will call as soon as I can. I am doing OK. Already on some meds that are helping me relax a little and sleep. Spirits are OK, just feel all fucked up in the head. Not crazy though; don't want you to worry about my sanity. I still know right from wrong, and would never do anything to hurt myself. Just wanted to let you know how things are going. I love you very much.

But in the end it wasn't his health that got him to come home; it was his daughter's.

Angel came down with a fever, and when I went to the doctor, they mentioned the possibility of leukemia.

It was a distant possibility, but when I said that to Chris, what he heard was: My baby has leukemia.

He was scheduled to come home within a few weeks anyway, but his command arranged for him to get an earlier flight.

Just like that, he was home. This time, for good.