A Crappy Day of Substance
May 28th 2007 04:08
Today is Memorial Day and my family is encircling one another to remember John Craver.
And then there is this.... a letter to the editor sent to John's three year old daughter...
To Emma Craver on her father's death
You are only 3 years old now, Emma, so you cannot read this, or understand much of it if it is read to you. But there may come a time when it will mean something to you to know how your father’s life and death affected people in a small Texas town that didn’t really know him well.
Your mother will have told you about your father. He was Johnny Craver, and he was a second lieutenant in the United States Army when he was killed Oct. 13, 2006, near Baghdad, Iraq.
Your dad was raised in McKinney, but his mom — your grandmother, Phyllis Broomfield — lives in Aubrey and works in Denton as a sergeant at the Denton County Jail. That is why people here felt his death so deeply: Phyllis Broomfield’s loss was our loss, too.
That is the way it is in a small Texas town, even one that is on the threshold of becoming a city. When tragedy comes to a good and caring place, the ripples of loss run through it, from one end to the other, and no one is left untouched.
Your father’s death was the second to bring home to this town the dangers of this war, and the sacrifices that are being made in the waging of it. A little more than a year ago Ernie Dallas Jr. of Denton was killed in Iraq in an incident that was eerily like the one that took your father’s life.
In one of those coincidences that defy easy explanation, your grandmother is a good friend of Charlene Sauseda, Ernie Dallas’ mom. They work together in the sheriff’s office. Your grandmother mourned with Charlene Sauseda last year at Ernie Dallas’ funeral. This week, Charlene Sauseda was at your grandmother’s house, giving comfort and understanding that perhaps no one else could give.
Your mother, Natalie, and your sister, Savannah, and your brother, Caelen, will have already told you so much about your father: how he joined the Army as little more than a boy; how he became a Ranger, one of the Army’s elite; how he decided at some point that he would devote his life to service in the armed forces.
In the Army, they facetiously call such men “lifers,” but there is quiet respect in the title, for these “lifers” are the men and women who give the Army its institutional memory and hold it together with their knowledge, dedication and experience.
Your family will have told you that Johnny Craver became an officer comparatively late in his military career, accepting a commission in 2005 after a distinguished career as a noncommissioned officer whose specialty was training other Army Rangers.
They will have told you that he was the commander of a Bradley fighting vehicle in Iraq, one of the most dangerous jobs in that dangerous place. You will probably know by now that two other brave soldiers died in the explosion that took your father’s life, and that another was wounded.
We know that your mother will have told you how much your father loved you, and missed you, and we also know that his comrades-in-arms will have told you by now of his devotion to duty and his concern for those in his command.
Those are the important things, Emma, and by now they will have been firmly affixed in your memory by those who love and care for you. But we thought perhaps you might like to know that we in a little Texas town have suddenly come to feel that we knew your father, too, and that we feel a deep loss at his death, a deep pride in his patriotism, a deep gratitude for his service.
Editorial taken from the Denton Record chronicle
October 18, 2006
And then there is this.... a letter to the editor sent to John's three year old daughter...
To Emma Craver on her father's death
You are only 3 years old now, Emma, so you cannot read this, or understand much of it if it is read to you. But there may come a time when it will mean something to you to know how your father’s life and death affected people in a small Texas town that didn’t really know him well.
Your mother will have told you about your father. He was Johnny Craver, and he was a second lieutenant in the United States Army when he was killed Oct. 13, 2006, near Baghdad, Iraq.
Your dad was raised in McKinney, but his mom — your grandmother, Phyllis Broomfield — lives in Aubrey and works in Denton as a sergeant at the Denton County Jail. That is why people here felt his death so deeply: Phyllis Broomfield’s loss was our loss, too.
That is the way it is in a small Texas town, even one that is on the threshold of becoming a city. When tragedy comes to a good and caring place, the ripples of loss run through it, from one end to the other, and no one is left untouched.
Your father’s death was the second to bring home to this town the dangers of this war, and the sacrifices that are being made in the waging of it. A little more than a year ago Ernie Dallas Jr. of Denton was killed in Iraq in an incident that was eerily like the one that took your father’s life.
In one of those coincidences that defy easy explanation, your grandmother is a good friend of Charlene Sauseda, Ernie Dallas’ mom. They work together in the sheriff’s office. Your grandmother mourned with Charlene Sauseda last year at Ernie Dallas’ funeral. This week, Charlene Sauseda was at your grandmother’s house, giving comfort and understanding that perhaps no one else could give.
Your mother, Natalie, and your sister, Savannah, and your brother, Caelen, will have already told you so much about your father: how he joined the Army as little more than a boy; how he became a Ranger, one of the Army’s elite; how he decided at some point that he would devote his life to service in the armed forces.
In the Army, they facetiously call such men “lifers,” but there is quiet respect in the title, for these “lifers” are the men and women who give the Army its institutional memory and hold it together with their knowledge, dedication and experience.
Your family will have told you that Johnny Craver became an officer comparatively late in his military career, accepting a commission in 2005 after a distinguished career as a noncommissioned officer whose specialty was training other Army Rangers.
They will have told you that he was the commander of a Bradley fighting vehicle in Iraq, one of the most dangerous jobs in that dangerous place. You will probably know by now that two other brave soldiers died in the explosion that took your father’s life, and that another was wounded.
We know that your mother will have told you how much your father loved you, and missed you, and we also know that his comrades-in-arms will have told you by now of his devotion to duty and his concern for those in his command.
Those are the important things, Emma, and by now they will have been firmly affixed in your memory by those who love and care for you. But we thought perhaps you might like to know that we in a little Texas town have suddenly come to feel that we knew your father, too, and that we feel a deep loss at his death, a deep pride in his patriotism, a deep gratitude for his service.
Editorial taken from the Denton Record chronicle
October 18, 2006
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Comment by Wendi
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
Thank you so much... the unspoken is touching. John and his family are very dear to me. It is so hard when family members pass even when serving our country....
Mis