Mission Under Fire (10 page)

After we were seated in the restaurant, I found myself taking in a panoramic view of the establishment, chuckling quietly to myself. I watched the people there, laughing, eating, and enjoying themselves. The atmosphere was warm, safe, and inviting. They had no clue what we had been through. They’d come to hang out, or have a cold drink after a long week, completely unaware that the ragtag missionaries sitting around them had just been in a shoot out with a bunch of Haitians in the Caribbean. Sounds funny when you’re sitting in a high-back chair waiting on burgers and fries, but when you’re standing behind a refrigerator with a coke bottle as your only defense against a semi-automatic pistol, it doesn’t have the same ring.

Well, it must’ve been pretty obvious that I was in a land all my own, because Joel interrupted my thoughts and said, “What are you looking at, Rex?”

I grinned and said, “I was just wondering if anyone else in here got shot today.” 

Everyone at our table broke out in laughter, leaving the other patrons with little evidence that we were survivors escaping the battle for our lives.

~•••~

N
ormalcy felt good. And the sight of a cold beer filled some of us with a craving for more. We had all signed a contract agreeing not to drink alcohol or use profanity on the trip. But since we had already crossed the line during the shooting, Morgan said, “In lieu of everything we’ve been through, I feel it would be okay if we had a beer.”

That was all I needed to hear. A little liquor therapy was exactly what the doctor ordered. Although some may criticize us for our choice, the truth is, it was easier for us to order a beer than for Morgan to turn water into wine and we needed to relax. Not everyone drank. But God used this place to begin the healing process. I sat among Joel, Morgan, Brad, Dee Dee, Jason, Cole, Julie, and Bruce. We filled our bellies, reflected on the previous night, shared our feelings, and laughed; a moment that I believe was truly a gift from God.

I thought to myself,
it doesn’t get any better than this
. Of course that’s not true; it gets a lot better, but that’s how it felt in the restaurant. Living through our ordeal has since given me an appreciation for many of the things I had taken for granted, especially the brevity of life, those precious moments with my family, and a safe place to live. Of course once you spend time in a third-world country like Haiti, you’re no longer thankful
only
for the obvious.

Family and friends are always at the top of any “grateful” list, but we, the people of these United States, are blessed with so much and we take it for granted whether we realize it or not. Electric power on demand, indoor plumbing, running water, clean tap water, fresh food, fuel, social services, available health care, infrastructure, and a democratic government are a few of the things that we don’t worry about. But for the people of Haiti, food, shelter, clothing, and education are extravagancies, especially for those living in earthquake survivor camps. Haiti didn’t change my worldview; that changed on my first trip to Honduras. But as I sat there in that restaurant, I had a renewed appreciation for the many blessings in my life, particularly that I was alive and on my way to see Sharon, my children, and grandchildren.

~•••~

A
fter we ate and had a few laughs, we decided to head back to the airport and wait for the others. We didn’t have to wait long. I heard some commotion outside the executive lounge, and then the rest of the troops came marching in. CB approached with Linda right beside him, and Monte, Maggie and Shelia were close behind. We huddled close together and had a brief reunion. After what we went through, it felt weird to be apart. We grew really close in those few days, but the shooting brought us together in a unique way. We wanted to be together more than ever. The pilots, however, were ready to take the first group home. We were ready for that, too.

We said goodbye again and changed the seating arrangements. Monty joined my group because he had small children, and Sheila came on board because she was feeling sick. Bruce and Brad offered to stay behind. Jeff, our pilot, refueled the plane and we boarded for Kokomo. At the time I didn’t know what was transpiring back home, but my thoughts remained on Sharon. I wondered what my family was thinking. Knowing that I’d be home soon helped put my mind at ease.

I also thought about my business. I’d been away for a week and I wasn’t going to be much use to anyone when I returned. Although much of what I do is management and marketing related, I still get dirty and work in the field. With my injury, that wasn’t going to be possible. My employees would have to carry the additional load, Sharon included, and I guess that bothered me a little. It bothered me that I would be a burden to anyone. I thought about how I’d get along and how my condition would affect Sharon. Would she have to act as my nursemaid? I didn’t want that for her or anyone. 

All of the survivors grew closer, bonding by the very nature of the event. I was afraid, however, that Sharon would only be concerned about the five women. I figured she’d have every right to feel that way. And this weighed heavily on my mind. I didn’t want to hurt her again. I didn’t want to create any more pain than I already had. I knew Sharon loved me. I knew she would feel nothing but concern for my welfare. But the trip had ended badly, a trip that she never wanted me to take, and here I was limping back home, worried that I had really blown it.

B
ack home, Sharon woke up and listened to my message around 6:30 am. She also heard another voice-mail from Mark, our pastor. He said, “There’s been an attempted robbery at Double Harvest, and some of our men have been shot. Rex was one of them, but is getting medical attention at a local hospital.” As it turned out it was a good thing that she listened to my message first. My voice gave her a little comfort. Still, after hearing the bad news, she broke down and cried.

That morning didn’t start quite like she had planned. My wife was going to spend the day Christmas shopping with her sister, Sue, an annual event that she looked forward to every year. But obviously the fun of the day was ripped out from under her. Sharon knows our kids’ schedules very well, so she systematically began calling them before they heard the news in the media or from a third party. She knew Mandy would be up early because of our newest grandson, Cash. Next she called Jeff and Amber, and finally Chad and Missy. Sharon shared the details and let them know what had happened.

As it turns out, we were all traveling down a bumpy road that day, none of us really sure what the future would bring.

Sharon’s sister, Sue, had stayed with her while I was on the trip. They were scheduled to rise at 8:00 am and head out for the Christmas shopping blitz. When Sue woke up she had no idea what Sharon had been dealing with since 6:30 am. Sharon was busy calling the kids and speaking with Gretchen Lee all morning. Gretchen was our team leader, and trip organizer. She stayed behind. It was a good thing, too, because her knowledge of the trip details and families who were involved became critical to the emergency logistics. She kept Sharon abreast of any news that came in as the day progressed.

While Sharon and Sue were preparing to gather our family, I called Sharon from the Haiti airport. I don’t recall much of what I said, but I remember telling her that Brad had saved my life, and warned her that the media may try to contact her. Then somewhere in the middle of our conversation, I broke down. Knowing that the love of my life was hurting so badly broke my heart, and it could also be that some of my pent up emotions were beginning to leak out. But that’s not all that was leaking. The media had already contacted the church. By the time Sharon and Sue stopped by the office that morning, reporters had repeatedly called my place of business drilling our secretary, Karen, with questions that she couldn’t answer.

Sharon and her sister eventually left the office and went to visit Mandy, where Amber would join up later. During that time Rob, Mandy’s husband also came to be with the family. Sharon was working hard at keeping herself together. She wanted to remain strong even though she was feeling very anxious to see me. Around 1:00 pm, they all headed to Harvey Hinklemeyers for lunch. They kept the atmosphere light, grateful that I was alive, and busied themselves while they waited for my return. It would have been a very different day if they’d had no idea what was happening, or worse yet, had to arrange a funeral. But they didn’t, and that made the day and lunch much easier to swallow.

~•••~

A
mber had previously made plans to meet with her friend Heather that morning to watch a matinee. She knew there wasn’t anything she could do to hasten my return, so she decided the movie would be a good way to pass the time and keep from dwelling on the situation. Heather hadn’t heard anything about the shooting.

While they were in line to buy their tickets, Amber leaned toward Heather, fully expecting a shocked response, and nonchalantly said, “My dad was shot last night.” 

Heather whipped her head toward Amber and shouted in the middle of the lobby, “What the hell are you saying?”

Of course this isn’t the usual time or place when friends reveal such information, but there just wasn’t an easy way to tell her. Amber proceeded to give her the details and assured her that I was okay and on my way home.

~•••~

A
round 4:00 pm Mandy left to be with her children who were returning from school. Sharon and Sue decided to swing by the church in search of the latest news and to pick up the car I had driven there before leaving for the trip. Upon entering the parking lot they immediately noticed a TV station van, along with a small gathering of personnel standing too close to the parking lot for her comfort. She didn’t want to be interrogated by the media, so she turned around and headed to Carson’s department store for a little “my husband’s been shot” therapy.

Essentially, Sue did the shopping, while Sharon spent most of the day on the phone with friends or family. Gretchen kept the spouses informed, and as it turns out was instrumental in providing at least a little peace of mind, as hard as that is to imagine. 

Amber spent some time later that afternoon at Jason’s house with his wife, Bridget, their daughters, a couple of our team-member’s wives, and Bridget’s extended family. They gathered additional details that were rolling in from Jason’s perspective, helping each other to cope. While they were together in the living room, a news report about the shooting flashed on the television. The reporters had obviously Googled images of the injured. Amber and the others sat frozen, shocked by the pictures plastered across the screen. Apparently, the only photo they could pull from the Internet of me was an image from my Facebook wall. I looked so silly because the picture was taken while I was dressed in my Beatles’ costume, wig and all, from the Beatles’ tribute band I play in. They flashed a picture of Morgan and CB, too. The biggest shock, though, came when they showed a picture of Jason Braun and his family. Bridget and her two daughters sat there stunned, already concerned that the worst was yet to come, staring at their dad and brother on a huge screen. At that point, the girls broke down and so did Bridget. Everyone in the room cried together.

T
he flight back to Kokomo was miserable. No matter how I positioned myself it felt like a pair of pliers were pinching the back of my leg. I’d move in one direction and the pliers would bite, and in another and they’d bite again. I tried adjusting my weight but nothing seemed to help; I just couldn’t get comfortable. When we were about half way to our destination I felt the need to use the restroom. This was a bit awkward because the bathroom actually qualified as a seat, occupied by another passenger—one of the nine available “chairs”. Imagine a bathroom twice the size of the usual airplane commode, with a nice seat that folds over the toilet. When a guy needs to visit the Johnny, he lifts the comfy chair up, does his business, and then folds the seat back down. Now that you have that picture in your mind, that’s where I was headed.

I managed to hobble to the bathroom and ask whoever was seated there to allow me to relieve myself. I stepped in and did what I needed to do, but realized that I wouldn’t be any more comfortable in my seat than I was on the toilet, which was actually nice brown leather. I decided to just stay in the bathroom and let my predecessor keep my comfortable chair that I was sitting in.

The remainder of our flight home was pretty quiet. Most of the group slept for the first time since the shooting, and the others, like me, were too sore to sleep. So in the dim light, and through the gentle hum of the jet, I sat there evoking memories from the day and thinking about my family. Questions, frightening images, and the sound of gunfire zipped in and out of my mind. I was ready to go home. I was ready to see Sharon.

~•••~

I
’ve never flown over Kokomo because I usually fly out of Indianapolis with the larger airlines. So as we approached our hometown, I wondered what the lights of our little city would look like. It was dark, around 9:30 pm, when we began our descent into the Kokomo Municipal Airport. I looked out of my window and was not surprised to see how small our little city looked from the air. I once thought of Kokomo as a major metropolis. As an adult I knew better, but the child in me had to see for myself.

Interestingly, as we approached the ground, I could see the crowd below, and there was at least one camera crew if not more. I had expected the crowds but I wasn’t ready for them. Whenever there’s big news in Kokomo, you can always count on the major stations out of Indianapolis to show up as well as our local radio and newspaper reporters. They were there in droves.

I later learned that the small airport terminal was packed with family, media personnel, and well-wishers waiting for us to land. Amber informed me that she was speaking with Brad’s wife, sharing what few details they had gathered throughout the day. It seemed that whenever anyone would speak to one of us directly, we’d only get so far before we’d break down and cry. It was true for me, it was true for Bridget, Jason’s wife, and it was true for Marsha, Brad’s wife as well. She had only been informed about Brad’s role in contacting Sonny, and arranging our flight. So when Amber shared that Brad had saved her father’s life, Marsha burst into tears.