A Soldiers Mom.
My son Kristofor T. Stonesifer was one of the first combat related fatalities of
Operation Enduring Freedom. He was an Army Ranger. These Special Forces are the 'point of
the spear'. They secure vital areas before the rest of the troops arrive. Kris died in a
helicopter crash during a rescue mission near Kandahar, Afghanistan.
My son was a quiet and shy person who recoiled from undue attention. When his name was
officially released, my family decided not to speak to the press about our private grief.
We were astounded as cameramen filmed our front door, mail box, lawn and garage door.
The only time I did not have control over the cameras was in the very public setting of
the Philadelphia airport. A Ranger honor guard returned my son's flag-draped casket to us.
I had prepared for the 'perfect' picture of a family steeped in military tradition. Kris'
father would be there as a retired Navy Captain, my oldest son as an Army Warrant Officer,
my brother who flew an A-7 in Vietnam would don his old uniform from the closet. And of
course the Rangers from Savannah all would be there to salute my son as he was carried off
the plane. If the world had to witness anything publicly about our family, it would be how
proud we were of Kris and his service as an Army Ranger.
After a wearisome wait, we walked to the dark open cargo door of the enormous plane. We
turned to face one lone video camera that the 75th Ranger Regiment was using to record the
ceremony for Kris' Battalion still in the Afghanistan. To my surprise, there were no
national or local media cameras, even though the Public Affairs office had notified them.
When Kris' casket was secured in the hearse and I could focus my eyes elsewhere, I noticed
a very busy construction site next to us. I was startled to realize that all activity in
the area had stopped. Every construction worker, every security guard, every person within
sight of this small simple ceremony had come to a complete and utter standstill, paying
respect to this fallen soldier. Many were saluting. They did not know his name, but they
knew this was a soldier who had died in defense of his country and was coming home to his
family. I was grateful that I could see through my tears to witness this poignant tribute.
My son was not a victim of 9/11. He volunteered three times to go halfway around the world
first to join the Army, then to become a Ranger, and finally to go on this rescue mission
on October 19th, 2001. All the time I thought he was safely sleeping in Georgia. His
platoon leader told me he chose the best men to go to Afghanistan that night. Kris must
have been proud to be one of the few to climb aboard that Blackhawk.
Four months later, I finally got to meet the other Rangers Kris called friends. They told
me that they admired the fact that we did not go on TV and display our private grief. The
Rangers are a breed apart and respect their own privacy. After meeting and becoming
friends with these brave men, I realize that I would rather have the respect of just one
Ranger than the sympathy of an entire nation.