Last summer I received a notice on Facebook from a friend in Georgia to pray for a man in the Army by the name of Tim Karcher. He was on CaringBridge. He had been wounded, lost both of his legs and was in the hospital.
I started reading the journal by his wife every time it was posted. They were the parents of of two young girls. At the time I started to keep up with him, he was in very critical condition. It seemed at times doubtful if he would even live. Through the months he has struggled to recover and eventually started to write the journal himself. This has been such an inspiring journey for me. Seeing this man so close to death and his determined battle to recover. Not just to recover for himself but for the men who helped to evacuate him, his fellow soldiers, for me and our country.
Tim has not only recovered from his wounds and loosing his legs but has now learned to use his new prosthetic legs and do his job. Yesterday he told about waiting at the Ft. Hood Airfield for his men to return home. He waited for each one of them, with their families. He said he wanted to thank each one of them personally for saving his life. One thing he mentioned was that no one actually understood just what it meant to have another person save your life
This reminded me of the first year I accompanied my father to his 3rd Army, 455th Battalion Reunion in Nashville. Dad had talked, every day, all my life, about his WWII experiences. They had become a part of my life too. He had told the funny stories to me, but there would be tears in his eyes, and I knew there were other stories he did not tell.
Upon arrival at the hotel where the veterans had gathered, a man slightly younger than Dad rushed up to him and hugged him. Tears were rolling down the cheeks of this elderly gentleman. Dad introduced me to "Peden". Mr. Peden looked at me, hugged me tightly and said, "Your father saved my life!" I was somewhat surprised, I had never heard that story. My dad replied, "Oh, I was just doing my job. I just happened to be there at the right time." Ed shook his head and looked at me again and said, "He saved my life!" I knew it must have been true.
After Dad's death I found an old army green, safe box. Scratched, with rusty spots on it, I opened the old box. In it were his memories and treasures of a war long ago fought. I also found his stories. His unit had been out on patrol, about 12 men. He was in the rear. There was a blast of gunfire in front. As he came upon the massacre, in the flashing lights he could see the German soldiers in the trees. He shot them all, and saw them fall to the ground. All his men were dead, but for one. He found Ed Peden, still breathing. He called for medics and got him evacuated. He never saw Ed again until 20 years later, to know that he was still alive. I had seen Dad's Bronze Star medal, but what I had never known was that he had received 3 of them. Of the medal he had said, "Oh I was just doing my job." In our military so many heroic acts are, when they "Just do their job." For us, for me.
