20 Years- and My Husband is Still the Military's Dirty Little Secret

“Oh! Make sure you don’t mention anything about how your husband was killed… we can’t have that associated with our organization.”

I’m pretty sure I will never forget how it felt when “Lisa” said that to me.

We were surrounded by other military widows and their kids. My four little boys were having fun running around throughout the amazing setup - bounce houses, horses, trampolines, music, snacks, bungee jumps - all set up for hundreds of kids like them.

Every child there lost a mom or dad in military service. In our case, it was Iraq.

The organization hosting this annual event has done incredible things for my family. I was happy to be able to do my part in returning the favor and I was used to being asked to bring my kids to do media appearances or speak with sponsors, even if it meant their play time was cut short, as in this moment.

My kids were upset to have to leave early- Mom, why can’t other kids do this? Why is it always us?

No sooner had I given them a pep talk about how they would be helping make sure this event happened again, and how they’d be representing their dad, than Lisa made that comment.

And it all came back.

The cruelty. The unfairness. The betrayal.

Not to mention the irritation. I’d done dozens of interviews or sponsor meetings to help grow and keep support for this organization. Part of why I was their “go-to” was the heart-tugging appearance of my four little boys in their matching sweatshirts, with their sweet smiles and unmistakable innocence. The other part was my ability to navigate an interview or meeting. I knew how to listen carefully and reply accordingly. No matter how tempting it may be to bring up our personal situation, I’d never done it. Not once. 

So there was no reason for anyone to think I would. Especially “Lisa” who’d overseen a lot of the interviews. 

That moment happened about 15 years ago. And as the memory hit me this year, on the 20th anniversary of Lou’s murder, it helped me understand the root cause of some of the residual anger I’m still carrying.

I’m tired of Lou being treated like a dirty little secret. 

At first the military rolled out the red carpet to our families.

I met with high ranking officers who assured me that our case was “the military’s top priority” in the same breath as they told us that a soldier murdering another soldier- in this case, two superior officers- was “an isolated incident.”

It didn’t take long for me to realize both statements were false.

My own research revealed numerous instances of documented fratricide within the military - and not just in Vietnam, but in Iraq, Kuwait, and Afghanistan.

And if our case was, in fact, the military’s “top priority” I’m pretty sure the focus was not on justice, but on protecting people or further scandal from being exposed.. 

Because there was no justice to be found in our case.

I can still see the smile on his killer’s face as the military set him free.

I can still feel the devastation of this second betrayal.

I can still feel the fear of wondering if Lou’s killer, whose home was only 90 minutes away from mine, would now seek revenge on me or my kids.

I can still hear the deafening silence that rings to this day: a silence where the military’s voice should be, loudly decrying this injustice and bestowing the Purple Heart on Lou.

Instead, Lou remains the military’s dirty little secret

Twenty years later, justice is still nowhere to be found.

Lou’s name is not in the Purple Heart Hall of Honor.

The military still refuses to award him the Purple Heart.

No president in the time since Lou was killed -  President Bush, Obama, Biden, or Trump have taken the time to review any of the information sent to their administrations, or to right this wrong.

When researching military fratricide cases, Lou and Phil do not even appear on the list of those victims.

Lou’s death is labeled Non-Hostile.

It is ranked in “Other” causes of death, with all the “other” forgotten soldiers.

Lou was not a celebrity.

He was not a famous athlete or sniper.

He was not Special Forces and he did not die in some version of a glorified battlefield.

He was an extraordinary teacher.

A beloved son and brother.

A cherished husband, adored father, and favorite friend.

He was a National Guard officer who, but for choosing to be with me for the birth of our youngest son, would have completed requirements to be promoted to Captain before he went to Iraq.

At least in all the other publicized cases, the military can point to convictions as “evidence” of it “doing the right thing.”

In our case, I believe my husband’s killer, who was stealing government property and selling it on the black market, meant it when he said “If I go down I’m taking others with me.”

I believe those “Others” believed him, too. And that is why  things unfolded the way they did.

I am so grateful to everyone who stepped in to wrap their arms around me and my family in the aftermath of losing Lou, and the renewed trauma of the acquittal.

I cherish the two Purple Hearts in my home, and the two Vietnam Veterans who presented them to me in honor of Lou.

I love the life I’ve built, the people in it, and the adventures I’m on.

I’ll also never stop loving or missing Lou, wondering, “What if?”

I’ll carry the weight of Lou’s loss forever, along with the added weight of the military still treating him like its dirty little secret.