My son, Kristofor Stonesifer, was killed on October 19, 2001 in a helicopter accident in Pakistan. He and Jonn Edmunds, both from Bravo Company 3/75th Ranger Regiment, were the first combat related deaths in the "Enduring Freedom" Campaign to rid the world of terrorism. On the night of Sept 11, I told a co-worker that I thought my son would be one of the first to "go in". I never imagined he would be one of the first to die.
His closest Ranger ‘buddies’ have told me that Kris was
where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do. After much reflection and remembering
the conversations I had with Kris, I want to believe this is true.
It was not a smooth journey that took him from his struggles in life to his death in a foreign land. People tell me, he died for his country. This may be true, but I believe that Kris was there for what he valued most; friendship and what the Rangers call brotherhood. Friendship and truth were concepts Kris highly valued.
Kris was a philosophy student for most of his adult life. His extensive reading and reflection was a marvel to behold. He wrote in his journals about his thoughts on the meaning of life and death. Long before he became a Ranger, he wrote to his Aunt Linn disagreeing with her statement "one’s death has little to do with how one should live." Kris countered, "If it is worth doing with only two weeks to live then it’s probably worth doing the rest of your life. One needs to find something worth doing in the face of death, which is not easily done."
We as Americans ponder these heavy concepts more deeply after the events of September 11, 2001. Kris and I had a few conversations about this event and the meaning of Freedom. It is ironic that I found a passage he wrote back in his early twenty’s on Freedom in journals that were stored in my attic for many years. Kris wrote:
"Today the term freedom that is flung about and defended so rigorously in America is a specious freedom, and a very American freedom. No one ever questions the concept because the word is so inspirational to us. We have lost our meaning of the word or perhaps we never had it.
John Fowles writes in The Magus " One of the great fallacies of our time is that the Nazis rose to power because they imposed order on chaos. Precisely the opposite is true – They were successful because they imposed chaos on order
This is what freedom is to most, to do whatever you want. But we must put restrictions on each other for safety; so we sacrifice our freedom willingly to such things as the law and to such things as God.
John Fowles’ character goes on to tell the story of how he was put into a moral dilemma. He had to club to death three prisoners tied to a fence or else the Nazis would kill him, the prisoners and the 80 villagers who stood watching. So he had to choose. One of the prisoners utters softly to him one word: Freedom. The character sees he is the only person in the square who had the freedom left to choose and the annunciation defense of that freedom was more important than common sense, self-preservation, Yes, then "my own life, then the lives of the eighty hostages." And he then throws down the gun and the Nazis open fire.
The freedom to say No becomes the more profound freedom because it is the more difficult to have. It takes the ability to stand alone without any God or law, but to stand-alone with freedom. That is the freedom we have left out and forsaken." (1993)
Kris felt that many people think Freedom is the right to do what you want but he thought it is the necessity to make the right moral choice, even if it means your own death, to have the courage of your convictions. When he went back to work at Ft Benning, he would often tell one of his friends, "I have to go protect that freedom you love so much."
The irony is that John Fowles’ book "The Magus" was among Kris’s belongings on the Kitty Hawk prior to his fatal mission and returned to us with only one page dog-eared and this same scene underlined. On the margin in Kris’s handwriting is the note "The Freedom to say NO."
Of course, there was also another book returned from the Kitty Hawk to us at the same time: ‘The Complete Guide to Card Tricks’ and a deck of cards.
At age 20 Kris wrote, "You are what you want to be." He also wrote about his
desire to be the best at something. He intensely studied martial arts, mastered BMX bike 
stunt riding, taught himself how to play the guitar, wrote poetry, short
stories, and was an artist. He wanted to write a philosophy book that could stand the test
of time, to live in the wild with only his own skills, to push the physical limits of his
body, to have an ‘out of body’ experience, and to be the best a Ranger could be.
His friends all stood back and wondered, "What will Kris be doing next?"
How does a philosophy major end up in the Army? After high school, Kris attended the University of Delaware. Although Kris was an excellent student, he chose to leave the university after two years of study and pursue his own course of studies. His curriculum was far more imaginative than any professor could ever hope to create.
Most years in my Christmas notes to friends and relatives, I would report on Kris’s return to some part-time formal school program. This was just one of those things he did every now and then, probably to tease us into thinking he was joining the establishment. He and I had a standing joke that our favorite Star Trek characters, the "Borg", were just imitating Kris verses the establishment. "You will be assimilated, it is futile to resist." What a giggle that line of dialogue would produce from both of us, as he strove to find his own path in life.
Kris’s educational journey took him to the Tom Brown, Jr. Tracker School in NJ where he met members of the "Special Forces" who were attending just for fun. Tom Brown was greatly influenced, an Apache Indian elder, medicine man and scout. The boys would accompany "Grandfather" into the woods of New Jersey to learn the art of survival, how to track, and the ways of nature. Tom Brown has since authored 16 books and established a school to teach and perpetuate the philosophy, methods and techniques of the Apache scout.
Kris read all of Tom’s books and took many of the scout classes, which were weeklong intensive training in everything related to living off the land with just your knowledge and the ability to create your own tools. He learned to make fire several different ways, build protection from the elements using existing materials and to forage for food. Kris put these skills to the test on numerous treks into the Montana wilderness.
Kris greatly admired Tom. Tom called me the day that my son’s name was released to the media. Tom also had been affected directly by the tragic events of September 11th. His wife’s brother was the co-pilot of the second plane to strike the World Trade Towers. Tom admired Kris’s focus in his personal knowledge quest, and said Kris was "one of the students who got it."
Some of my fondest memories are associated with Kris coming home from his survival school classes. He would come back from these adventures so exhausted, so exhilarated and so incredibly dirty. The tub in my house still does not drain well because of all the mud and sand.
He built his first 'debris hut' on my property then continued to leave these structures
everywhere he visited across the United
States. These shelters were made of native materials to provide
insulation and shelter. You could sleep in them without the aid of a sleeping bag and be
toasty warm. Of course you had to check yourself for ticks five times a day. When Kris
finally settled down in Montana in 1997, he built several structures in the state parks
around Missoula. I told him he should think about perfecting a wheel chair ramp because I
had every intention of moving in with him when I became old and opinionated. He said he
would consider that.
One of the skills Kris practiced was to become ‘invisible’ in plain view. He would position himself in a tree or lie on the ground very, very still so he became one with the surroundings. He would still be plainly visible, if only you knew where to look. He loved to watch us try to find out where his voice was coming from.
Another skill he practiced was to walk through the woods like an Indian Scout without making any noise. The goal was to touch a deer. One day he came home and said he had done the "deer thing." I said, "Great, tell me about it" "Well…" he said, "it probably didn't count since the deer was pretty young." I said, "Well, that counts." Then he said the deer was also fast asleep.
However, the story is even more interesting; the fawn was actually asleep on the bank of a small stream. Kris approached through the streambed until he was nose to nose with the fawn. He waited patiently until the fawn awoke and focused on Kris's face. Kris wanted to see if he was invisible to the deer at such a close range. The fawn hesitated a long time looking eye to eye with Kris before it decided to get up and stumble off into the woods. I gave Kris the ‘sleeping deer merit badge’ even though he never really reached out to disturb the deer. He intended to work on the ‘grazing deer award’ and then the ultimate, ‘swat the bear on the behind, and run like the wind’ award for the really advanced students.
Kris practiced walking barefoot and blind folded in the woods around my house using all of his other senses to detect the obstacles in his path. He would have liked to have been a real Indian Scout. When he would come home from visiting his friends, he could enter and close the doors and actually move through a room without making any noise. I could never hear his return. However, I had a Mother's secret early warning device, he never knew about. From my chair, I look directly at a picture of an Indian Scout. Everything that happens in the entrance hall is reflected in the glass of that picture. So, while I never heard a sound, I could always see his brief reflection just before he rounded the kitchen to greet me with his soft-spoken, "Hello there."
One day he did join the ‘establishment.’ He joined the Army. While a student at the University of Montana, he used the ROTC program to help pay for his classes. He excelled as an ROTC cadet astonishing the instructors with his physical training scores. Kris concluded that he wanted to get into the special operations side of the Army. As an officer, he would have to wait until he was a Captain, (about four years) before he could be considered for Special Forces; but as an enlisted soldier, he could apply years sooner. He decided that the Ranger Regiment was the place to start his special operations training.
Suspending his college career once again, he enlisted in the regular Army. He finished training the week before Thanksgiving of 2000. Airborne training was next; it was completed before Christmas leave. Then, the challenge began --- Ranger Indoctrination.
The Army’s selection process for Ranger duty serves to nurture those nebulous
attributes of honor and character. Much personal sacrifice goes into being a Ranger ---
desire must be extreme. For example, of the 219 Airborne qualified soldiers with Kris who
volunteered for
Ranger Indoctrination, a three week course to
eliminate those whose desire is not extreme enough, only 21 completed the course to become
Rangers. No man failed, but 199 requested to drop out; hence, the term "elite
unit". The brotherhood built on shared common experiences grew. Constant training and
repeated exercises with the members of the team further strengthen the concept of
teamwork, of protecting your buddy.
In early September 2001, Kris was attending Ranger School to earn his "Ranger Tab" when he damaged his ankle. He continued four more days without telling anyone until he could no longer walk. He was sent back to his company with a cast on his leg. When the call for his Regiment to go to Afghanistan came, Kris with the help of a few tools extracted his ankle from the cast so he would not be left behind in Georgia.
Rangers never leave a fallen comrade behind. That was the mission my son and Jonn Edmunds were on the night of the helicopter crash. Kris and Jonn were members of Bravo Company, 3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, the same group that experienced the Mogadishu "Black Hawk Down" firefight October 3, 1993. This part of the Ranger creed is important to this company.
The 3/75th was still on deployment and could not accompany Kris’s remains home to Pennsylvania. The US Army sent 21 Rangers from the 1st Battalion 75th Regiment to honor my son, carrying his casket from the plane, and then military honors at his memorial service the next day. They did not know Kris personally, however this did not keep them from feeling profound loss of a fellow Ranger; the Brotherhood.
I tried to thank SFC Frank Pacheco, but I could not find words big enough. He came from FT Benning to assist our family through this difficult time and made all the arrangements at the airport and memorial service. I wanted him to understand how the Ranger’s presence during this sad time gave me much comfort and strength. A feeling of well-being came over me when the Rangers arrived in Pennsylvania. When I told him how indebted I was to him for fulfilling my wishes by cutting through the red tape of the heavy security at the airport to make Kris’s homecoming special, he simply said, "Well M’am, we’re Rangers." Now, whenever I am faced with an overwhelming obstacle, I simple say to myself, "Well M’am, we’re Rangers" and deal with it.
My ‘sisterhood’ of friends created a wonderful gathering at my home to thank all those who came to the memorial service. The most important thing was to welcome and feed the Rangers well. I made sure that the "Brass" that attended the service heard Kris’s final requests, as I looked over my ‘granny’ glasses at them; "Guinness beer, cheap cigars, and good quality food, none of that chow hall shite." After a few hours of story telling and eating, it was time to say goodbye to all my new Ranger Buddies. We sent them on their long drive back to Georgia with all the cookies and candy we could pack, and of course a big hug and a wish for all of them to stay safe.
Kris was a very complex, warm and sensitive young man who loved life and loved nature.
He listened more than he spoke. His smile was awesome to behold. He could discuss abstract
philosophical concepts with university professors or just enjoy drinking beer with his
buddy Luke, crack jokes, or close a different Key West bar every night of their vacation. 
He was not a fanatical, love-it-or-leave-it American. He was a quiet patriot.
His philosophy was to lessen man’s impact of the earth. He did this by being a vegan
vegetarian (not eating or using animal products) for eight years. He was a non-consumer
and traveled very lightly in this world, accumulating only books. He walked very softly on
this earth, but his impact on my life is beyond words.
On his last trip home in July, we all remarked how quiet, peaceful, and self-confident Kris had become. Kris had come into his own by becoming a Ranger. I asked him once, if he wanted me to write letters about the "Black Beret" controversy? He said that he really did not mind what color his beret was, he knew what he was and that did not depend on a particular color he wore on his head. He just wanted the rest of the Army to wear it correctly!
Kris was eating protein again on his last trip home in order to build more muscle mass.
Rangers depend on their buddies to be the best they can be physically and mentally and he
was not going to let them down. He looked so beautiful, (spoken like a true Mom). We never
really 
exchanged gifts but this year I decided to ask for a
birthday present. I wanted him to go with me to have his picture taken at a studio. He
said, "Sure."
The young lady taking the pictures was great, snapping the right moment when Kris would exhale a big shy, nervous breath then flash his terrific smile. He got me into one pose, something I was reluctant to do. But now in retrospect, it is a treasured picture and actually the best portrait of Kris.
You have to wait an hour and return for the pictures. When I went back into the store alone, the two young lady photographers were disappointed that my son had not returned with me. They kept looking up and down the outside of the store front and asked, " You son is going to help you select the photos, isn’t he?" I wondered why and they replied. " Well, we just get crying babies in here, and your son was a treat to look at!" Yes, I have to agree. (Again spoken like a loving mother.)
My comfort stems from the fact, I actually appreciated this great gift while Kris was
still alive. If I could avoid this intense pain I am experiencing by going back in time
and not giving birth to this amazing child, that would deprive me of the 28 years that
Kris filled my soul with happiness. He did not take the traditionally established path in
life. He chose the things he wanted to do and be with the people he wanted near in his
life. I am glad that I was one of them.
We plan to sprinkle Kris’s ashes at Upper Holland Lake near Missoula, MT around August 20, 2002 (Kris’s birthday). We plan to fulfill Kris’s last wishes and do the same "Guinness beer, cheap cigars, and good quality food, none of that chow hall shite" that we did after his service in Pennsylvania. This trip will include as many as his Ranger Buddies as want to come. Since it is an eight mile hike into this location, this is just another of those mother-son jokes he wanted to play on me. I’m in training.
My oldest son
Ric and his wife Dana had asked Kris this summer for permission
to name their third child after him. Kris was very honored and pleased as long as they did
not use his middle name-Tif. Kristofor was born just five days before Kris’s death.
Kris and his brother had a wonderful relationship and a special bond. They were very
supportive of each other’s projects and activities throughout their young and adult
lives. It is true that when push came to shove with his older brother, Kris could make a
point that the line had been crossed by shooting a blow dart into a leg or a quick kick
where it counted. Ric had a healthy respect for his younger brother after a few
well-placed warnings. They have both been the ‘light’ of my life, each of them a
unique individual with the ability to "edit" their exploits. I am hearin
g the ‘other’ stories now that I cannot send them to
their rooms. I am sure that Kris’s decision to join the Army was influenced by his
brother’s positive attitude and performance as an Army Warrant Officer, CID.
For some reason, I could not sleep Friday night October 19th the night of the accident. I was out in the living room surfing the news programs when video of the airborne invasion was shown with the scroll across bottom of the screen mentioning that there were two causalities in a helicopter crash in Pakistan. I thought to myself, "Oh, those poor families." I did not know at that time that Kris had deployed to the war zone. The next morning when the Army Colonel in his Class A uniform arrived at my work, I knew why he was there. All I said was, "Pakistan."
When General Shinseki called to extend his sympathies, I asked him to relay a message to the President, because at the time mail was going through it’s own problems. I wanted the General to thank President Bush for me. President Bush’s heartfelt expressions of sympathy on the death of my son, half way around the world in China, sustain me in those very first and darkest hours.
Kris wrote us a last letter. In it he said, "I don’t know if you’ll ever get an explanation of how or why I died. I’d like to think I died for something important or vital to the mission here. But I don’t think it is. It’s just a ‘gravy’ mission and I fully expect to come back without firing a shot. So if you are reading this something went horribly wrong or it was just a bad luck Murphy’s Law type fluke. All of you are in my thoughts. I’ve had a good life and I’m happy to have spent it with all of you. Love Kris"
President Bush made a point of saying in his expression of sympathy about Jonn and Kris’s deaths that "They did not die in vain." I believe this statement is true. I will not live in fear.
Ruth Voshell Stonesifer