When the date of the fall of Kabul comes around, I think about all that we lost
This is Matthew Heneghan’s First Person column. He lives in Falkland, B.C. See for more information on CBC’s First Person stories.the FAQ.
The uniform is both uncomfortable and impressive. It’s a lot more than just threading, stitching, buttons, and badges that shine. It’s earned through trials and tests. Moments of “sink or swim” strung together over weeks, months, and sometimes even years. It shows the soldier’s name, rank, and all of the things they’ve done, but it does so in a very humble way. Perfectly embroidered on the chest and sleeves of the wearer are their deeds and qualifications, which tell a story.
On a hot August day 17 years ago, I had one of these life-changing service moments. I was given the sad task of moving the body of a friend who had died in battle. On August 11, 2006, a suicide bomber killed Cpl. Andrew James Eykelenboom, who had volunteered for one last mission. He was a medic in 1 Field Ambulance, the same unit I was in, and was set to go home in two weeks. But he would not live to see that return. He was 23 years old.
At the time, I was also 23. I didn’t feel like much of a man. I was more like a boy with a few pennies of life experience. But this man, Cpl. Eykelenboom, a soldier, raised his hand on purpose to face danger again. I still think about how mature and selfless that act was, even though it happened years ago. I learned that he was both a dedicated soldier and a good healer. I liked him a lot, but I never got the chance to tell him.
We were eight people who were chosen to carry Cpl. Eykelenboom’s body to his final resting place in Comox, B.C. It was a sad job, but we did it. This would be my first real job as a soldier in the Armed Forces. I had done field training and medical training, but this would be my first real job. I had seen death before, but this was the first time I had to carry a brother who had died.
WATCH: The ceremony for Cpl. Andrew Eykelenboom’s return to his home country at CFB Trenton in August 2006
A few days earlier, at CFB Trenton in Ontario, we had taken part in a ceremony to return our dead medic’s body to his family. When the military plane carrying the flag-draped casket came back from Afghanistan, we carried it off the plane. Later, when I got on another plane in Edmonton to go to B.C., I was sitting next to a civilian woman. I didn’t care about her looking at my uniform, so I looked at a random part of the wall in front of me.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I couldn’t help but notice, and I’m sorry, but there are a lot of military people on the plane today… “Are you going somewhere fun?” After her question, he smiled in a kind and sincere way. I didn’t know what to say at first. Who is it special to? I guess a place where people are laid to rest could be called “special,” but I didn’t think that was what she meant.
I told her what we were going to do. Her smile faded, and a sadness became clear in her face. I got along with a civilian for the first time all day.
As soon as the plane landed and stopped, the captain’s voice came through the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to thank you for flying with us today. At this time, we’d like to ask you to stay seated. We are traveling today with a number of people from the Canadian Armed Forces. They are taking the body of Cpl. Andrew James Eykelenboom, who died in battle, back to his hometown of Comox. We ask that you let these men and women get off the plane before it leaves today. They will be taken to the runway below to get the casket of one of their own.”
At the end of this announcement, I heard a bunch of annoyed sighs from the other people on the plane. Each of them got a slash from my eyes. We got off the plane and got ready to stand in place below the cargo hold. We got the casket with the flag on it and carried it to a waiting hearse. It is hard to explain how heavy it is. Before that, I had no idea that a flag could weigh that much. Since then, I can’t look at the red and white American flag the same way. Whenever I do, I always feel sad.
Eykelenboom was buried on another sunny August day in 2006, a few days after his death. I think about that time every single day. The folding of the flag, the ceremonial firing of rifles, the metal clang of a nearby flagpole, the sound of the wind playing on the grass and trees, and perhaps most of all, the grief of those who knew and loved him. As I stood at attention, their pain leaked out from behind my shoulder.
We all have turning points in our lives that make us who we are. Some people cry when they get married, have a child, or lose a loved one. These moments go beyond time and space and have a power that many people can understand. This was one of them for me.
I can think of that soldier.
I remember how heavy that flag was.
I think about it every time I hear about Afghanistan in the news.
Every August, on the date that marks the fall of Kabul.
I always will.
Rest in peace for all time, Andrew James Eykelenboom is a Cpl.
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