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MAINE COMPASS: Treasure good, bad times ‘because life is fragile’

I buried my son on Tuesday.

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These are words that no parent should ever have to say, but which thousands of grieving fathers and mothers have had to repeat as a result of at least 10 major wars and scores of lesser conflicts, police actions, occupations and internal and foreign campaigns in the last 250 years of American history.

And those numbers do not include the tens of thousands of parents who’ve lost children to illness, criminal violence or senseless accident. Waterville Police Chief Joe Massey knows the pain, and I have clients in my veterinary practice who know the pain as well, having lost sons in recent foreign conflicts.

Wade was a special person.

In my daughter Meghan’s eulogy, she was right: It was an open secret that Wade was everyone’s favorite in the family. But that does not mean that his eight brothers and sisters are any less important than he was; that their lives, their successes, their problems and their careers are any less significant than Wade’s; nor are they loved less than he was.

Treasure and remember the good and the bad times with your children, because life is fragile, and things can change in a heartbeat.  As the General Officer said at Wade’s funeral, “Things get worse just before they get worse.”

Let your kids know that you love them. Life has no guarantees, and the world is a dangerous place.

I’m grateful for many things. Thankfully, I had the opportunity to attend Wade’s graduation from basic training at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri in 2007. I’m grateful that I was able to be present at Wade’s graduation from Advanced Individual Training in explosive ordnance disposal at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida in 2008. On the day he graduated, I stood with Wade in front of the large memorial to fallen EOD soldiers, and I will be there next May when Wade’s name is added to that long bronze list.

I know that he appreciated the daily postcards with snippets of happenings at home. I’m grateful that I could share stuff with Wade that I can share with no one else.

I know he appreciated the packages of food, his favorite magazines, books and videos. His last box contained, among other things in its 23 pounds, three large bottles of ketchup that he requested. Doesn’t the Army supply ketchup?

Over the gulf of 9,000 miles, we together built the AR15 rifle he wanted when his company returned to Fort Lewis this coming fall.

I’m grateful that Wade had an adopted West Coast family, Dan and Mary Morse, with whom he spent most of his free time while stationed in Washington state.

And I’m grateful that his battle buddy, Sgt. James Cribbett, was standing near Wade when he was hit, and that he saw the focus of recognition in Wade’s eyes as he died, even though Wade could not speak.

We have to carry on.

There was a senseless medical death in my practice the other day. A healthy feline patient, who belonged to my best friend, was undergoing a routine procedure when she just died for no visible reason.

Wade loved cats, and the only explanation that makes any sense to me is that maybe this cat needed to be with Wade, or maybe Wade needed the cat to be with him.

Goodbye and Godspeed, Wade. One day, I’ll see you again, and we’ll joke and talk like before. We’ll compare notes on the number of zombies we’ve taken out.

I love you, son.

A veterinarian, Alan Slack practices  at the New England Animal Hospital in Waterville. His son, Army Spc. Wade A. Slack, 21, died May 6 of wounds suffered from indirect fire in Jaghatu, Afghanistan. Wade had just disarmed an improvised explosive device and was waiting to be flown back to base, his father said, when he was fatally injured by mortar fragments.