When he was a senior in high school, Army Sergeant Michael Carlson, son of Merrilee and Daniel Carlson, wrote a three-page credo that was recently published in the Wall Street Journal.
“When I am on my deathbed, what am I going to look back on? Will it be thirty years of fighting crime and protecting the country of all enemies, foreign and domestic? I want my life to account for something... I only have so much time. I want to be good at life; I want to be known as the best of the best at my job. I want people to need me, to count on me... I want to fight for something, be part of something that is greater than myself. I want to be a soldier..."
After serving nearly four years in the Army, including a final stint with the Ice Platoon (82nd Engineers), Michael, 22, fulfilled those prophetic words. During a night mission, his platoon was assigned to cordon off and take out of commission, two bomb-making factories. As the Bradley they were driving was going over a culvert in the roadway, the culvert gave way and the vehicle rolled over backwards into the water. Seven soldiers were in the Bradley; five died, including Michael. A rescue unit was able to save two other soldiers, in large part because before he died, Michael was able to partly pry open the hatch in the vehicle. Says Merrilee, “We are privileged to have men and women serving in the military who are willing to give their lives, their time, and their energy to preserve, protect, and defend our freedom.”
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Merrilee Carlson spoke to WCCO-TV in Minneapolis at a recent Families United event.
"We can't leave this work undone in Iraq. We can all argue about how we might have gotten there. But we're there and we need to see it through... I suppose we could have taken the beaches at Normandy,'' Merrilee said, "and then decided it was too expensive or too difficult to keep going. I wonder what the world would look like today.''
Daniel Carlson said his son's essay and the response to it have eased the pain of losing him, and he continues to believe that the U.S. effort will lead to a better, freer Iraq and a safer America. "He didn't die in vain," he said. "It will come." Minneapolis Star Tribune 5/29/05
Remarks on Visiting Washington - March 8, 2008
By: Dan Carlson
I believe a spirit cannot appreciate hope and joy without touching the depths of despair. Returning home January 24th, 2005 from an incredible day, my soul dived into a chasm of pain while looking into the eyes of a soldier as his lips recited the name of Brother and four others. In a moment of no hope and no joy, I touched the bottom of despair when Mother’s cry reached my heart from a far away holiday paradise.
For three years I wallowed in a dark place where I only saw light from work and the frequent cocktail, but there was no relief for long nights. I tried a few times to come to Washington, to pay respect, to maybe feel better, but stepped back from the plane door under the excuse that I was not ready. Dwelling in the darkness is easy when your great fear is to forget those who sacrificed. For me, the hardest part was clasping the seat belt while the person next to me grooved to iTunes.
Landing in Washington was surreal. The blur of a memory that was my first visit for the for the burial of Brother snapped into crystal clarity. The people, the sounds, and the shapes had started moving again as if the clock had been restarted. For them, the day was normal. I wondered if I walked among them with a mark that indicated my family had given all we could for freedom.
The next several hours was a hurricane of people and emotion, but an eye to the storm brought perspective that I will never forget. Meeting SBG Ismael Hussain T. Alsodani from the Iraqi Defense Attaché basked me in the light I so desperately sought, but was afraid to enter. Standing, together, with Brother, I looked around and saw how many families paid the price of making Section 60 sacred while the echoes of reports sounded off in the distance. My family is one of many in this war that gave a ruff man by choice so that others need not feel the burden of serving.
But that experience was not complete. As I looked down at Brother on a beautiful day in Arlington, the General embraced me as a brother and whispered into my ear that he too had lost a brother in Operation Iraqi Freedom. Those words from his proud voice resonated as he held me and honored Brother. I realized, for every soldier’s stone before me, there was another in a far away land that equally sacrificed for the sake of hope that only freedom can give. Someday, when we complete the job that brings hope and change to the Iraqi people that we cherish, I wish to stand before those far away stones and see Brother smiling with his new brothers as I stood smiling with mine on this day.
In the mean time, I will grow old with the gift given to me in a triangle box over a marble stone. I will smile with the hope and joy of Mother as she shares our family’s honor of being able to give Brother under our flag. Perhaps there will be another monument in Washington that will help others understand what we, and so many others, have given.
