OPINION:
As I approach the escalator at San Diego Airport, I feel my heart lurch from the flood of memories coming in. My husband, Chris Kyle, was not known as the American Sniper when I used to greet him at the bottom of this very escalator. He was my beloved warrior and an amazing father to our two wonderful young children.
How fitting that I would descend this same escalator this Memorial Day weekend with our now-grown children, Colton and McKenna. The familiar ache is one I have learned to manage in the 11 years since Chris was killed. God has been so good to us in the aftermath and taught us many things. I am grateful, and if given the choice, I believe I would trade them all if it meant we could have Chris back.
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I often wonder what people see a man who wears a military uniform. Do they see a son, a father, a husband, and a friend who could have chosen to do many things in life but chose to offer not only his service but his life for his country?
As Colton, McKenna, and I approach the escalator, my memory is of the man behind the uniform. He was the man with a huge smile and a spark of fun in his eyes. He was the man who loved us enthusiastically and joyfully, who played pranks and games, and whose open arms were always, always open for us.
I remember the man coming home from deployment, sometimes on the tarmac on base, and sometimes on this escalator, carrying the weight of war with all of its destruction, death, injury, and determination of warriors like him risking it all for the freedom from terrorism and the innocents in the Middle East. Of course, he believed it was also in the interest of Americans to continue the fight against terrorism abroad so the evil of terrorism does not grow large enough to meet our citizens as intimately as it met Chris and his team in their attempt to defend the civilians in the Middle East. You might think the weight he carried would be apparent on his face as he began the descent on the escalator to meet me, but it wasn’t.
Just as I have learned to manage the weight I carry, Chris, too, was learning to manage the load placed on him. His face, though, wore the smile of the man behind the uniform who was returning to a family who missed, loved, and longed for this day when he would be home. His eyes held the love he wrote about in the emails home during his long months away.
There is a way a man looks at his wife when he holds no guard between them. It’s a look that even the best writer cannot express in words. You might have seen the movie about Chris’s service brilliantly portrayed by Bradley Cooper in “American Sniper.” Unlike in the film, Chris never needed a minute in a bar before he came home to us, but the sentiment of his needing time alone to process is accurate.
On these days of his return home, Chris wore the unguarded expression of a man who knew his wife shared the excitement of his coming home with friends and neighbors and also let them know it would take some time before he was ready to be with them again.
I keep these memories of the man in the uniform and behind it, in a place I have learned to manage because not managing them might leave me in a place of perpetual missing the life and person I cannot get back and still long for. It is a place where my throat is tight, and the tears in my eyes threaten to spill over. I manage how my brain allows a memory or keeps it locked up safely.
By the grace of God, in the decade since Chris’s death, Colton, McKenna, and I have learned to live again. It’s a different and blessed life. We are grateful for it, even with the emptiness we all hold in the place reserved for the man behind the uniform.
As you observe Memorial Day this year, you may have a person behind the uniform who you still miss. I wish you peace that surpasses all understanding if and when the memories come crashing in. I hope you also have time to enjoy the freedom your warrior fought for.
Maybe you don’t have a personal connection to losing a person behind the military uniform. I hope you pray for the healing of the people managing their emotions as they remember their loved ones. I hope you teach your children, your neighbors, or the people around you what this day is about. I hope your Memorial Day includes time to reflect on what our fallen warriors offered their lives to protect. Then, celebrate the freedom they fought for.
I hope you carry yourself differently this Memorial Day, with more kindness and grace than you might on other days. I hope you find a way to remember the mothers and fathers, the widows, the friends, and the children who might be on the road, at the store, or descending the escalator next to you.
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Taya Kyle was unexpectedly thrust into the spotlight when her husband, American Sniper, Chris Kyle, one of America’s greatest heroes was murdered. Taya provides help and hope to those going through tragic times through her non-profit TACK-F, Taya and Chris Kyle Family - Service Marriage Strong, Speaking Engagements, and writing. Her first in a series of Children’s books called”Prayers for Bears: Bailey the Grateful Bear” launched in April. She would love for you to follow her on Instagram, Facebook, or visit www.tayakyle.com so she can stay in touch with you regarding new projects and helpful tips on Faith, Family and healing.
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