Rampid Byter

Just got back from Union Township park. I walked three something miles after getting into an argument with someone. I took my iPod and my gimpy leg and started walking. I realized about the quarter mile marker that the last time I was at the park I was running with Matt Maupin training for boot camp. I remember the day pretty vividly it was early August and we were running around together. Well I was jogging winded and Matt was trucking ahead and there was this girl sitting on a bench. I went skimping past and she got up and started to jog with me. It was the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me. After the first mile we’d picked out the china we were going to have at our wedding and I even think the name of the first kid. Her friends were ahead of her training for Amelia’s track team and Matt was still running way up ahead. When he lapped me he noticed I was running around with a hot girl and he later asked me how I did it. I got a weird look from him and he said he never has any girls following him, and I just laughed because he’s a bulky muscle builder and I’m a chubby overly white tall guy. It was pretty funny, and then about three weeks after that I shipped out. That is after I got four wisdom teeth pulled that happened to develop dry socket that I was forced to deal with while at boot camp without any scope or extra time to clean them out. It was a terrible experience to say the least.

I tell yah time flys. That’s probably been five or six years ago probably close to the actual day. Kind of realized that when passing a rock inscribed with his name, and I can’t help but sit and wonder about how life turns out. Oh, and yeah my leg is killing me. A brisk three mile walk and my leg is hard to stand on. I hate my leg.

Matt

Over the course of the last four years we’ve all held out hope that Matt would be coming home in a more joyous way. Since this possibly has been extinguished and the realization that we’ll never see Matt again it made me start to wonder what pictures I had laying around in boxes of Matt. After going through more pictures than I’d like to recount, along with some embarrassing pictures from my childhood, but who doesn’t have those?

Anyway, I found a few Matt pictures floating around. Some from Elementary school, some from the LAN party I had at my house, some of Matt boxing Ryan, and a few of Matt and us just all hanging out. I have a picture of Matt stretching at my dinner table after what appears to have been two breakfast sandwiches with fries. So I’ve decided to start operation Matt pictures. This will be a joint effort from all of us to gather together all the pictures we have of Matt, and then make an album to give to his mom & dad. It was very painful to realize we’d never see another picture of Matt getting older, so why not bestow never before seen pictures of Matt’s life to his family? Maybe they’ll see a side they never knew, and the side of Matt we all enjoyed.

Matt

Matt

What a day. I saw my friend Matt again. I stood in line with a decently sized group and it oddly felt like a line a king’s island. I stood there in the sunny scorching sun just waiting to go into the building. However, that is where the similarities end. I walk into the room to see a giant film of pictures of Matt when he was a kid, what a dork, and I felt like I was watching his life oddly progress from beginning to end all in one film. It’s odd to think that Matt will never age he’ll always be that 20 year old guy that took one sip of Jack colla and spit it all over the place, including on me. The guy whose first beer at 20 ended with one sip of bud light, and ended with five minutes of throwing up.

I remember the day I came home from Arizona and taking my old truck to Brian’s house where Matt was. Brian got in the cab, and Matt hoped into the back of the truck bed with my spare wheel. I wink at Brian, gun the truck, and Matt topples over onto his back on the bed. Then I hit the brakes real quick, and I hear a very loud thud, and I look back to see Matt standing up with a tire track across his chest. Apparently in the whole ordeal the wheel came upright, rolled over his chest, and then came to rest at the front of the truck bed. It was the funniest thing in the world when Matt climbed down and said he felt like he got hit by a truck, and in fact had tire treads on his chest!

I stood there, and couldn’t help but say out loud ‘man, Matt was such a dork’ because he was. He was our dorky, but jockish friend whom just didn’t get enough time to hang with us all. Matt, like I’ve said a million times would play star wars cards with us, hung out with us all the time, shy as can be around women, and had a laugh that paralleled goofy. It became too real today. I got to see my friend again, to be two feet from Matt, and it all started to click. My buddy was dead, and he was sitting no more than a foot from me. I teared up, couldn’t speak, and just stood there looking at my friend. There are no words that can really describe it. It’s a sinking feeling, a panic feeling, a feeling that makes you feel ill, triggers your fleeing senses, and then makes you want to take your memories reach in with your mind and pull him from your dreams back to life. You want to make things not real, it was too real today.

You know what made things worse? We all knew there were 100 people going to the funeral. We all had no idea who was going, and being his friends we all thought we’d go. I was really optimistic about being able to be part of the procession to see this whole ordeal to final completion. I knew my one friend was on the list, but was I? The three of us wanted to know what the deal was going to be so we went to talk to the officers who directed us to a very nice lady. She worked for the pentagon, and was able to get a hold of Keith, Matts dad, and told us we needed to speak with him. In the end we go to leave thinking he’s at the yellow ribbon center, and thank god I’m slow as heck thanks to the knee because she comes running after to say he’d arrived at the civic center. We walk back, get to talk to Keith, who goes, I know you to my one buddy on the list, looks at my other buddy says he knows him, shakes my hand and says I know you too. Long story short I and another one of my buddies who was close friends with Matt are not invited. He told me know offence but you’re not on the list, but my one other buddy is. I understand, it was probably my fault for not staying in touch as much as I should have, hell Keith didn’t remember my name, and only remembered me as the ‘nerd’ one. I just feel strange. Part of me is so mad because it shouldn’t matter because I was friends with matt, hell we joined the army together, and I’m not allowed to go. The other part of me understands and I know I can go to his grave when all is said and done.

I wanted so badly to say it was bullshit, but what can you say to his dad? It’s not my place, it’s not my time, and regardless of what anyone says all of us probably knew their son better than they ever will. We have our secrets, we have our memories, and together we’re the ones who will carry him with us. Whether it was when my one friend named his son after Matt, whether it’s the times we get a beer on Matt b-day. They’ll never know what we know, and I guess the world never will know Matt that we knew. I will always say one thing. In tragedies it’s so easy to say how great a man is, whether his life had really been, but in this case Matt was a true all American great guy. Kind as can be. Shyer than me when it came to women, and with his physique you’d think he’d have been a ladies’ man. Smart as can be, especially when he wrote a short story that won him a partial scholarship that they made him read at a school assembly. Matt helped me in the gym get ready for the Army, we’d run around the track talking about the day we got back we’d walk through the mall in our uniforms. Matt had a laugh that always made me giggle, and he’d smile even more than I do.

I’ve heard people saying why all the special ceremonies for Matt. They’ve even asked what he did that was so special. I can only think how ignorant these people are. Matt joined of his own volition, did his duty without complaint, did his job with pride, and was taken prisoner by foreign enemies. Matt paid the ultimate price for our country, his parents paid the ultimate sacrifice by having their son lost for so long, and our country will always see his face circled by extremists. Matt is America. Matt was surrounded by enemies on all sides, Matt didn’t cry, Matt didn’t make a deal, and Matt was murdered just because he was doing what America needed him to do. Matt paid our price. I’ll stay away from calling Matt the modern day Jesus, but Matt did something that not one of those people who question the war are willing to do. He joined the Army willingly, he gave his time, he gave his blood, and yet people ask why he was worth it.

Matt

Hey all wanted to mention that the Yellow Ribbon Support Center needs volunteers this upcoming Saturday the 19^th of April to help put up flags from Eastgate area to the community center behind Wal-Mart. They’re looking for strong guys, or any guys to help put up the flags.

Matt

Wow, this week was a dozy, and it went entirely too quickly. I had surgery early on Tuesday morning after getting my work for my client auto-mated, and providing a good 53 paged document on how to do everything from configure the system to the database schema for the tables involved in the process. I was hoping there wouldn’t be a problem, but in case there was I wanted to be able to let them cover it.

I got the news about Matt early Sunday afternoon, and by late evening it was flooding over the local news stations. I started getting call after call from friends and family asking what I knew, or what I was going to do. Apparently I’m on some weird Matt watch for some of them as they think I’m going to overreact or do something stupid. I like to think I’ve matured over the years and am able to deal with these things a little better than I’m given credit for in most cases.

So I get to the hospital on Tuesday at 6am and doesn’t it figure that they ask you be there no later than 6am, and they don’t even open until 6am. So after sitting in the car for another ten minutes waiting around for them to open the doors I start thinking about the day. Man, hurry up and wait.

I did all the paperwork they asked for, paid my 200$ deductible, and then they lead me back into the prep room. I was asked to undress completely down to my socks. For knee surgery I’m not sure what going totally nude will accomplish, so I ask “even my under-roos?”, and the nurse confusedly looks at me. She then looks over at another nurse and asks “Hey, <name I can’t remember> did they ever change the policy on underwear?” The other lady said no, and Barb, my nurse, told me she never understood it either but no underwear. That throws out that whole saying your mothers used to say about always wearing fresh underwear in case you have to go to the hospital. Doesn’t matter they always make you take it off anyway it seems.

So I’m getting IV’d and hooked up all the while a few nurses come by asking me about Matt. My mom apparently is a chatty Kathy and let it slip I’d been friends with Matt. So everyone comes over and lumps condolences on me and asked questions about Matt, like how I knew him, what he was like, whether he was nice or a hard-ass. It was a little surreal to be getting surgery and fielding these questions.

A little time later they start to hook me up to this dripper machine. They take the IV, wrap it into this machine, and it starts pumping drugs at a certain interval. Unfortunately I got the broken one that wouldn’t snap at the bottom, and instead of pumping fluids it started pumping AIR. Yes, air, the stuff that when in your blood stream kills you. It kept beeping, and beeping with the alarm that there is air in the IV line. The dang thing pumped a lot of bubbles into the line. My mom, who was sitting next to me at the time, started counting them. I lost track after she passed 12 and another nurse came over because of the problems. Barb just started work after her brother died so she was just back from that, the machine was broke, and it was still 6:30am. Poor girl was having a week like mine, except I’d imagine harder because she works long hours on her feet.

They ended up changing out the machine for a new one that finally started pumping IV fluids instead of air into me. I did get a wee bit of a static sharp head ache afterwards, but that could have been my imagination. I was starting to get doped up at that point. I realized after a few moments that when IV machines arnt pumping fluids into you that your own body starts pumping fluids back out. That was so weird. I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad if the IV went in right the first time. Apparently the IV got snagged upon my vein in a spot where to veins came together. So I got stuck a few times. Mike, god bless him, was pretty good about getting it done quickly. I’m still convinced getting an IV in the hand is far less painful than in the arm. I don’t bend the top of my hand nearly as much as I do at the elbow is how I look at it.

So a little time passes as they’re coming over, shaving my knee, talking to me about everyone going to be there, and my parents warn them that my last meal was really spicy. I think the last words out of my moms mouth was ‘he ate hot sauce’ to the anesthesiologist lady. She looks at me, smiles, and says that’s how she likes her food too.

I then get wheeled back into the operating room where there is a large cross shaped bed waiting for me. I pull myself onto the new table and they begin strapping me down. Did you know they put a seat belt on you? I laughed, then asked whether they thought it was protection in case I was a DWI, driving a cart while intoxicated with knock out drugs. One person snickered, but I’m going to blame my lack of funny on the fuzzy headed drug. Speaking of which, they injected something shortly before the were going to gas me that started to burn inside me. It felt like a million fire armed centepides crawling inside of my heart, and inside my brain. It was crazy it burned so much inside my head it felt terrible. I heard my heart rate rising and one nurse asked me whether I’ve ever had a panic attack, which I have not, and then they quickly gassed me. Next thing I know I’m trying to fit my bandaged leg into a car. I’m tall enough as is so trying to fix a fixed leg brace into a car that doesn’t fit me to begin with just was crazy enough.

Long story short I spent the entire week in bed with ice on my leg. Short of physical therapy last Thursday was the first day I was really up that week. They undid my bandages and it looked as if I was smuggling a bag of oranges under my knee cap. Buldges everywhere I tell you. The next day I had a doctors appointment that a friend of mine too me too. I wont get into that one very much since I waited almost two hours to see the doctor for five minutes for him to go ‘oh it looks fine, doing good’ without even having looked at my leg one second.

So here it is Monday I’m back in the office with second office chair from my cube, crutch sticking through the arm holds, and my leg placed in the top portion of the crutch heel against the armpit pad. It’s holding my foot up, at least it is until the chair tips the rest of the way, while I toil over these programs. It’s still terribly sore, swollen, I’m off my pain pills, and there is no ice to be seen. I can’t even drive yet. So needless to say it’s going to be a long week.

Health & Wellbeing, Matt

Better days. I feel a little better today I had my moment yesterday where I’m starting to welcome closure. I’ll have the whole rest of the week for time to find solace in the current situation. It was a bit much yesterday sitting in my room reading over a few books thinking about everything I needed to accomplish before surgery. I then get an IM, walk over to the PC, and see a friend of mine left me a note that Matt was found. The last part where it was his body just threw me because there is always a moment of hope, and it was quickly crushed. I’m happy, in a strange way that it’s over. I still remember the day it happened pretty vividly and leaving work when news broke that he was aired on TV. I remember sitting with his mom and dad talking about the crap shoot of the situation, and how his dad had hope he’d back soon after the tape aired.

Cut scene to four years later I’ve done my narrow minded short lived attempts at feeling sorry for myself for the situation. I’ve sat there and blamed myself over and over for my part in the play that was Matts life. When disaster struck its one of those situations where over and over in your mind you locate and recall those moments you were around or with them. Then you start to wonder about associations with the current events and how you played the cause and effect game. It just doesn’t work. You can’t just sit there and think, man, what if. It will kill you, and definitely not in the short term. It’s a long drawn out painful process that nobody should go through.

Matt was a good guy be it also a goofy, nonchalant, and funny guy. Matt has the body of a body builder, but had no game when it came to the ladies. There were a few girlfriends come and go, but only one that he really seemed to want. She ended up Dear Johning him, and then comes to the Matt functions bawling her head off playing the girlfriend part. I could say more about Amy, but I’ll restrain. They both still owe me a Chinese dinner, but it looks like Matt’s off the hook on that one now.

Good times. I have my giant old truck in the garage that is painted multiple colors, and the dog poo one Matt sat out in the hot summer sun helping me paint on with a brush. In return I helped him paint his windshield wipers on his 80’s model Nova. Man he hated that car, but it got him around town.

Just crazy small little world we live in. I think too, that it seems they didn’t torture Matt, and during the video taping said he’d be treated as a captive soldier. They said they executed him, and in that situation all a person can really ask for is a quick painless death. One to the back of my head, while not welcomed, would be a far better alternative than what happened to others who were beheaded.

I suppose I’m rambling at the moment. Just trying to make sense of this world, I suppose you have to live each day like they’re the last. Spend the time you can with those you love, and do what it is that makes you happy. Somewhere out there is another person who never got that chance, and you should live yours for them as well.

Matt

Well I heard some news, some fucking awful news. They found Matt’s body, at least from what I’ve heard, and honestly I don’t care about posting it here without asking if it’s ok. I don’t think enough people read this for it even to cause a ripple in the pool that is life.

It’s kind of ironic that it was that fateful Easter I heard he was missing in Iraq, and drove like an insane man to his moms house where everyone was meeting. I sat there on matt’s old bed fixing his computer, it had a virus, and everyone was trying to shake off the initial shock. It wasn’t but a few strange surreal days later, my dad was in the hospital recovering from the removal of his kidney due to cancer, and on the news is matt’s face surrounded by Islamic militants holding high powered rifles. I still play that video every now and again to remind myself of the reality of it all.

In the last four years I’ve been absolutely obsessed with checking the news sites, drudge, cnn, wkrc, wxix, and any other news source I can think of to keep abreast of the latest news. I started the day after matt went missing, and I’ve become completely neurotic about checking the news every ten minutes to an hour to make sure I know what is going on. It was particularly painful when the news came out about matt possibly being executed. I saw the image of the back of what appeared to be matt in the grainy dessert photograph, and I kept thinking what a shit shoot.

I never really talked to anyone about it, because nobody really thinks about it, but I guess now is ok. Matt was damn near blind, hell without his glasses he couldn’t see the sun in the sky, and even failed his first entrance test in the army without getting permission from an optometrist to join. Frankly they didn’t know if they could make BCG glasses for the poor guy. So every time I watch the video of matt sitting there I’m always thinking to myself, he’s not wearing his glasses, and contacts need to be changed every day. I can’t help but think how matt had to be blind after the first night, totally screwed visually after the first week, and I can’t imagine what that must have been like. Blind, being held captive by people you don’t understand, language wise, in a foreign country, on your first mission, AFTER getting dumped by a Dear John letter. My god, what that must have been like, and I keep thinking that I may have been there if my shit ass heart/nerve wasn’t screwed up.

I’m not lucky, but I live with regret. I think I always will, I tried drowning it with alcohol once in my life, and all that ended up doing was piss my friends and family off. I am numb to this whole situation after so many years of living with the thought of, did I, or didn’t I have an effect on his decision to join. Hell I still remember laying on the couch messaging matt back and forth while he mentioned he was looking on the army website and was considering joining. I told him flat out if he joined that I’d join to be his battle buddy. Two days laters we’re heading up to join the army.

I’ll probably post more on this subject later I’m just initially in that shock and awe phase.

Matt