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Death for me over the years has rarely been difficult to process and move on. I've buried quite a few, only mourned a couple. The two I mourn are now memories I guard so earnestly a mother bear could not rival my ferocity. These two people immediately bring on the wet eyes and short tight breaths when I just so much as think on their lives, their influence, and my loss. This past January I experienced a third loss of someone very important in my life. It's hit me very hard, and I am surprised it's taken me this long to be able to pick up a pen and put it to paper finally. It's been thirty days, and this is still difficult to even bother to proof read. I did pour out my initial shock and pain all over social media. I tracked every article on his death I could find. I even found video from where he was that day and watched a VBIED explode in the distance. I had to somehow be there. Witness his chaos, hear the intensity, and visualize the finality that damage brought on in the war he volunteered to fight in. Albert Avery Harrington had volunteered to fight with Kurdish forces against ISIL two years ago. When he had initially announced his plans, I debated, I argued, and I even pleaded for him to reconsider and find another way to render aid. I knew he would end up severely injured, or worse, dead. But he went anyway, fully accepting the almost guaranteed risks that would change his, and the lives of all who loved him, forever. He sought life and purpose on his own path, and if death found him, at least it was while he was in pursuit of what made his existence fulfilled. This outlook on life is the only reason I can accept his death without anger or regret. No anger at his dying in a situation that he willingly allowed danger to follow, or regret that I never convinced him to put down this flag for a noble cause. Our last goodbye was back in September. He'd asked me if I could use my press privileges and get him in to Kurdistan. I'd laughed him off, quietly relieved he wasn't currently in harm's way for the moment. I knew it was only a matter of time though, and once again I would get erratic messages from the front lines in Kurdistan where he would complain about needing sleep and I would promise him the juiciest burger money could buy once he got back. If. But he didn't make it back. January 18th he and four others were hit by not one, but two, VBIED (vehicle-borne improvised explosive device) during a special offensive titled "Wrath of the Euphrates" in a small village called Suwaydiya-Saghirah village in Raqqa. The goal was to cut off the supply line to ISIS's stronghold in Raqqa. Three men were instantly killed, and Avery succumbed to his wounds in the morning hours of the 22nd at age 50. He is listed as a martyr with YPG/MFS Kurdish forces and buried in the land where he fought to defend innocents against ISIL's tyrannical cult. It appears their sacrifice has paid off since Kurdish forces have wrested control of Kukhkhan and Bir Said villages from ISIL in northern Raqqa. While the progress made since his death has been bittersweet, seeing the word martyr was a difficult thing to process at first. See, like myself, Avery was an atheist. He was living proof of atheist in foxholes and he was very much a humanist. One I try to model myself after. Honestly, I don't know how he gave so much of himself to so many. I get exhausted, but Avery thrived on it, I believe. "Give me a mission," he would say. So, when I saw him being referred to as a martyr, my teeth began to grind. The days to come proved even harder when others began to share their own pain and thoughts on his passing. As I followed up on news posted on his remembrance page, I began reading the thoughts and prayers comments. I also had to walk away from my computer a few times when I read speculation about whether he'd gotten right with god or turned back to Christ on his death bed. At first, I interpreted this kind of talk as an affront to what he stood for. His legacy should not be tarnished with the idea he was going to Hell unless he managed a last minute conversion. Could people not see the insult to everything he stood for by questioning his very humanity based on a belief system he did not even ascribe to? Those questions and speculations made me cry. They made me angry. I felt Avery's very purpose of pursuing a larger case for compassion on the world stage had been overshadowed. And after my rage subsided, I realized what was wrong with all these thoughts that were screaming in my head. The word "I". The long and the short of it all comes down to the fact Avery is dead. He can no longer be personally offended. He can't feel. He is oblivious to the world as he lays in his box under hundreds of pounds of dirt and rock in Syria. This is about my desire to preserve his memory in my life as I feel it should be. When the desires of other's to do the same do not match up to mine, then I want to stomp them out. And this is incredibly unfair. It minimizes the grief of others, it alienates in a time when coming together is most comforting. The desire or belief that Avery found God and is now in Heaven does no harm to his memory in my life. It puts a comfort to the personal loss of another, and I don't have the right to control another's grieving process by demanding their hopes be dashed. Just as Avery showed understanding for religious culture and customs of those he sought to protect, why can I not afford the same respect to those who now have a gaping loss to deal with in their lives like I do? This is a practice I will struggle with for years to come, as do all of us, but for those of us who do not believe in a hereafter, we feel the loss even more permanently than those who do believe. Why should I make a demand for conformity on behalf of those who are dead? Why allow the anger to take away from what we have lost? Do I really need to ask them why their God saw fit to allow such atrocity that eventually motivated Avery to protect those God would not? No, I won't do that. Even if when some say this god supposedly had a plan for Avery. Grief and loss do not belong to only one individual, though the process is individually different because of perception of the relationship one shared with the deceased. All of us who loved and cherished Avery have one thing in common, his death. Some of us will look forward to dining with him at the table in Valhalla, the rest of us have only his influence to pass on through our own actions so he may life on in the life of others - even if some who will be influenced by him, won't even know his name or know he is the source of their benefit. I can honestly say that my relationship with Avery ended with no regrets, and the past is forever the past, and tomorrow will always show me where we once were together. I love you, Avery. We miss you.
"I'm going to Kurdistand in March. I'm going to fight ISIS." Not something you want to hear from a long time friend. Especially when it is followed up by, "This is something I believe in." Plenty of other platitudes followed. Empty assurances of safe zones he would be assigned to, all the while I am well aware of the ground war going on in Kurdistan, and know damn well what he thinks will happen isn't even close to the truth. Yet, this is a noble thing to do. Fight a treacherous, unconscionalbe enemy who must be stopped at all costs. It's the noble thing to do. I think it is extraordinarily foolish. The Kurdish forces battle against ISIS isn't anything more than defending a territory that isn't recognized as theirs, having grabbed large amounts of land as ISIS decimated other regions of Iraq. Both sides of this coin are somewhat rigid in their belief systems. The only difference between the Kurds and ISIS would be that the Kurds want to secede from Iraq and become their own state, not caring what happens to the rest of the world around them. ISIS is on a rampage, spreading Islamic law, or at least their version of it. It's an ideological war. And I refuse to believe it is noble to sink to the level of both parties involved. No, I don't think so. As I see it, there aren't any good or bad guys in this conflict. In fact, I would argue, they are both quite bad, and one is notably more violent than the other. Will my friend be able to handle the fire fights? Will he be able to kill the scourge called ISIS that stones women, hangs gays, and shoots dissenters? Will he be able to do this and turn a blind eye to the Kurds doing the same to their own people as he fights for their freedom to do so from the oppressive force known as Deash? The whole situation seems utterly useless and a waste of time for a foreigner to participate in the turmoil. Simply put, how do you justify killing one to allow the other to essentially be doing the same? Still, he wants to do something about all the carnage he is seeing. An atheist, completely wrapped up in the media storm of pain and suffering in the world. Wanting to do anything he can, even if it means giving his life. All under the notion of being noble. And what does it mean to be noble? What exactly is an act of nobility? Honestly it isn't much different than being moral, and we already know that the standard for that varies person to person. Much like the guidelines set out by many religions and cultures in this world, the concept of being noble follows along the same line. A preconceived idea of what constitutes a morally sound person or act. It's religious dogma 101, straight out of Phillipians. Killing doesn't seem to fall under the word noble. Seems killing for a moral cause would fall under vigilanteism. And even worse, if this killing is a desperate attempt to feel like you are making a difference in the world, then you aren't doing anything more than committing a self serving sacrificial act. Almost a Constantine type of move that will give you near martyrdom if you die. What's noble in that? This desire for martyrdom to gain recognized accomplishment in life is a big problem on both sides of the belief system in America, and globally for that matter. Everyone wants to run out there and be a hero. Running headlong with blind ambition into war zones filled with starving children, mourning mothers, and slain fathers. A conflict ravaged country side filled with underage rape of parentless children, puss filled bellies from starvation, and deadly disease that a five dollar prescription normally would cure within a week. It isn't just the dread Deash forces committing the atrocities. Many of these civilians die by the hand of their own countrymen who are fighting desperately to survive in a treacherous time of land wars. He can't just stop at killing the baddies on one side. To be noble would to show no quarter to anyone who participates in any type of inhumanity against the innocent, and the Kurdish forces would not stand for him to shoot their own too. One man's idea of beauty is different to the next. So is the idea of nobility, and how such an act is to be carried out. Regardless, I hope he doesn't get his head sawn off with a shitty field knife in the deserts of Iraq. I hope he makes it home. He won't ever be the same from it though, and I think he underestimates how bad things are. I sincerely hope this noble cause provides enough of a fuzzy blanket of denial for when he sleeps at night, so those dead empty eyes of those he killed in a religious war aren't haunting him with the purely futile and unconscionable behavior that he participated in. I love you, Ave. But there aren't any respawns in this game, and you can't repair your COH in the real world. Shits ethereal.