my nephew, my hero
Editorial By Susan O'Connor, Illustration by Brittney Guest

As President Obama orders 21,000 additional troops to Helmand Province in Afghanistan, I wonder about the wisdom of our presence in a desolate, tribal world where Western values and mores are absolutely foreign and meaningless. What is the definition of success in this war?

My interest and concern is personal. Someone very special to me is one of the 21,000. His sacrifices warrant recognition, just as those of all soldiers do.

It was the day after Thanksgiving 2007. With his troops safely loaded in a convoy of vehicles, 1st Lt. Jeremy Tillman walked over to speak briefly with his Iraqi interpreter before heading back to base camp. In those moments, an IED exploded underneath the two men. The Iraqi was killed instantly. He was a man Jeremy knew well and trusted. Shrapnel ripped through Jeremy’s legs, shattering bones, damaging nerves and shredding flesh. My tears flowed uncontrollably for two days.

The first to hear from him was his wife, Cassie. He called from a field hospital in Iraq, using a cell phone borrowed from a nurse. His first words were, “Thank God my men are okay.”

Jeremy was a first string defensive end at Dyersburg High School and a leader in the Arkansas State University ROTC program. He chose to spend a summer during college in jump school at Ft. Benning, Ga., and he aspired to be one of the elite Army Rangers. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in criminology in May 2007, and I choked back tears as he was commissioned first lieutenant. He has always had a drive and tenacity that I admire, and those qualities have been put to the ultimate test during an arduous, grueling recovery.

From the field hospital he was flown to Germany where he underwent the first of many surgeries. Then he was taken to Walter Reed Army Hospital in Washington, D.C., then on to his home base of Ft. Bragg, N.C. The conditions during these transports were practically inhumane. If he could change anything for our wounded men and women, he has said, it would be the mode of transport.

After a year of surgeries, including the grafting of bones, physical therapy and seemingly endless suffering, he is now walking without crutches or a cane, but with persistent pain. He has begun running again, something he’s always loved. His recovery is a miracle in our family. He has been promoted to captain, then major.

Now, his wife and two young daughters have to face another deployment, just as their lives have returned to some semblance of normality. Their sacrifices begin again. And another baby is on the way.

I tell this story to put a personal face on the constant sacrifices of our military families. We need to remember that these soldiers are someone’s son, nephew, husband, father, sister, etc. This soldier is my nephew, but I have always loved him like a son.