Beyond The Battlefield: Military Turning To Wounded Vets' Families As Key Part Of Healing Process

Source: Huffington Post

Last January, on a dusty parade ground in Mosul, Iraq, Army Sgt. Robert Fierro was shot in the head.

An Iraqi soldier, part of a battalion being trained by American troops, had broken ranks and opened fire. As Fierro and others scrambled, a bullet struck him just beneath his helmet, crushing the right side of his skull. The tall, muscular 33-year-old collapsed to the ground, limp and almost lifeless.

At the same time in central Texas, it was a cool Saturday morning. Inside a snug house at Fort Hood, Lisa Fierro and her two kids had blankets and pillows scattered on the floor and "Band of Brothers" in their DVD player. Lisa, an experienced Army wife, had allowed her 8-year-old son, Diego, and his 6-year-old brother, Rodrigo, to watch the miniseries as a treat, helping them pass the time until their father came home from the battlefield.

A call from one of Lisa's girlfriends, also an Army wife, interrupted them: Go turn on the news, she said, something's happened. Off went "Band of Brothers." Lisa flipped impatiently through the channels. Nothing. Switched on the computer to Yahoo News, typed in Mosul and up popped the story: "Two Americans were killed in Mosul and one injured when an Iraqi soldier …"

Lisa called her dad, her stomach churning. "It's our guys," she said.

After she hung up, the phone rang again, this time a liaison officer from Robert's unit, Apache Troop, 1st Squadron of the 9th Cavalry. He called often while Robert was away: Lisa was a volunteer leader with the Family Readiness Group, a team of spouses organized to support military families by relaying important messages from the Army’s leadership through phone-trees. But this call wasn’t about helping other spouses.

"I need to come talk to you," the officer said. "Hurry up," she told him.

She gathered the boys. "Something's happened to your dad," she said, trying to stay calm, "and they are coming to tell us what. Please pick up the pillows." She told Diego to watch by the window and "tell me what kind of car they come in and what they're wearing." An official military sedan, carrying officers and a chaplain in dress uniforms, meant they were going to tell her that Robert was dead.

"It's a white truck," Diego shouted, "and they're wearing ACUs [fatigues]!" Before the doorbell rang, Lisa knelt and took the boys in her arms. "Daddy's alive!" she cried, tears brimming in her eyes. "Daddy's alive!"

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