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By Rick Moran Posted in War — Comments (6) / Email this page » / Leave a comment »

Petty Officer 2nd Class Michael Monsoor, center, sent this photo home from Iraq days before he died.

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

("To An Athlete Dying Young" by A.E. Houseman)

Read on.

Garden Grove, California is a "stiller town" today. The city of 166,000 lost one of its favorite sons on September 29 when Petty Officer 2nd Class Michael A. Monsoor, a Navy SEAL, performed one of those acts of selfless courage that defines the term heroism.

His SEAL team was in support of a joint US-Iraqi operation in Ramadi when a grenade was thrown through the door of their sniper hideout. It bounced off Monsoor's chest and fell to the floor mere feet from 4 of his comrades. With every natural instinct for self preservation in his body and mind screaming for him to flee, Michael Monsoor made a conscious, rational choice; he deliberately fell on the grenade sacrificing his life so that his comrades would live.

In the grand scheme of things, Monsoor's death should be considered no more nor less a tragedy than those of any other American or innocent Iraqi in this war. Each life lost violently cut short. Each death a blow endured by family, friends, and neighbors. Every man, woman, and child taken leaving behind only scattered memories of what they were like when they trod the earth, whole and human, smiling and laughing, loving and caring.

But in Garden Grove today - and for those of us who read and marvel at Michael Monsoor's last heroic act - there are the questions with no good answers. Questions we ask of ourselves. Perhaps questions we'd like to ask of Michael. We put ourselves in Michael's position in that sniper's nest with the grenade lying on the ground and the chasm open, gaping beneath our feet. We rightly ask ourselves what we would have done? Why, Michael? How?

Was it something in his training as a Navy SEAL that gave him this otherworldly courage to commend his life and spirit to his friends? Or was it something even deeper. Something he carried around as part of himself all his life; a product of upbringing, of faith, and yes, of love.

Surely love must be considered as an answer to some of those questions. And we can find clues that Michael's last thoughts were about love as he made the choice to die in the words of his comrades and friends:

(Patrick) Barnes said his friend was an adventurer who enjoyed traveling in Europe while he was deployed in Italy and loved snowboarding, fast cars and motorcycles.

He was also "honest, straightforward and a great friend."

"He was selective about the friends he made," Barnes said, fighting back tears. "But when you became his friend, you became his brother."

And from his brothers in arms, a description of a purposeful man:

"He was just a fun-loving guy," said a 26-year-old petty officer 2nd class who went through the grueling 29-week SEAL training with Monsoor. "Always got something funny to say, always got a little mischievous look on his face."

Other SEALS described the Garden Grove, Calif., native as a modest and humble man who drew strength from his family and his faith. His father and brother are former Marines, said a 31-year-old petty officer 2nd class.

Prior to his death, Monsoor had already demonstrated courage under fire. He has been posthumously awarded the Silver Star for his actions May 9 in Ramadi, when he and another SEAL pulled a team member shot in the leg to safety while bullets pinged off the ground around them.

Incredibly, Michael failed to qualify for the SEALs the first time out. The brutal qualifications course that is designed to test both the physical stamina and mental toughness of the individual sailor proved too much for him - as it does for 75% of all candidates.

But what's incredible is that Michael didn't give up. He tried again and succeeded in his dream to be part of the best of the best. And he accepted the credo of the Special Forces warrior:

"One of the things that is not obvious at first glance is what makes a special operator and that is an absolute internal mandate to go into the most difficult combat situations you can, to face death, and to win. That's what it takes to get through training. That's what most of the guys want when they start training and then training reinforces that premise. To go into very risky, very personally risky situations, where it is one on one, and go duke it out with the bad guys.That's what SOF guys want."

What manner of man places himself in harms way with such enthusiasm and abandon? I tried answering that question on the occasion of the single worst day in the history of the Navy SEALs when 11 men lost their lives in an operation in Afghanistan:

We may have known these kind of men when they were children and young boys. They always seemed to have a group of admirers trailing them around, trying to keep up with their adventurous and audacious spirit. They would have had an easy way with grownups who also liked and admired them. They were good at sports but rarely bragged about their accomplishments. They were fiercely loyal to their friends and were always there if they needed defending.

Later in life, you would probably see a quiet confidence in the young man that was striking in that it made him seem older than his years. He would have a small circle of friends who were fiercely loyal to him. A natural leader, you would have found it easy to take orders from him and delighted when he gave out praise and crestfallen when he would criticize.

At bottom, the young man would have a calling, a desire to serve. It would manifest itself most noticeably by the serious way in which he would approach planning his life. Goal oriented to a fault, you would be hard pressed to remember a goal that he set for himself that he didn’t achieve.

The SEALs then takes this raw material and in the crucible of a torturous training program that tests both the physical stamina and mental toughness of the volunteer, they forge a warrior who lives to fight, fights to win, and never quits.

We will never know what went through Michael Monsoor's mind as he leapt upon that grenade. My own belief (and hope) is that Michael's final moments seemed to him to last a lifetime, the seconds slowing to a crawl to give him the chance to reflect on how lucky he had been to have so many to speak so highly of him after he was gone, to mourn for those who would feel the pain of his loss. And I have no doubt he would have had a colorful curse or two for the enemy that had defeated him in life but that he was cheating with his own heroic death.

Michael Monsoor was scheduled to leave Iraq in less than two weeks. His friends were planning a welcome home Halloween bash - his favorite holiday. Perhaps it was a fatalism that affects most warriors but Michael's last email to his friend Danny Wright seemed eerily prescient regarding his fate:

Wright said Monsoor had sent him an e-mail two days before he died.

"He'd said he was proud of me," he recalled. "And he told me to continue pursuing my dreams. It was as if he was saying goodbye and wishing me luck with my life."

Monsoor is survived by his parents, two brothers, a sister, nieces and nephews..."

Michael is also survived by us: A grateful nation who will recall his sacrifice and the sacrifices of all the others with awe and a sense of obligation for a debt that we can never repay, only vow never to forget.

Cross Posted at Right Wing Nuthouse