#IWillListen and I Did!!

My first night in Dallas for the First H.E.L.P annual family weekend, I was wearing my Husker hat when a gentleman approached me with a big smile, saying, "Go Big Red!" We shared a quick conversation about the Huskers and parted ways. It felt like a typical moment—until two nights later.

After the formal First HELP dinner, I saw him again, this time in the ballroom after the formal dinner/ceremony. We briefly talked about the Huskers losing, but then, the conversation took a deeper turn. He began showing me photos of his son, Matthew who had died by suicide. Matthew was a cop in San Diego, and then in Idaho. I was struck by one image in particular: his son holding a newborn baby. Matthew helped deliver a baby while on duty as a San Diego Police Officer.

Then I saw a picture of the father that I was talking to, dressed in Marine Corps Dress Blues, wearing the rank of First Sergeant. I told him I was a Marine too, and suddenly, we were lost in hours of stories, sharing our time in the Corps like old friends. He had served on Embassy Duty in Havana, Cuba, as the Detachment Commander. I was in Havana! I’d never met anyone else who had been in Havana other than the Marines I served with. Then he told me something that floored me—he had been the Detachment Commander for Clayton Lonetree while in Russia, the infamous Marine who betrayed the Marine Corps and our Country. Any Marine who’s been on Embassy Duty knows the weight of that name.

We talked about our shared history, the bases we’d both been stationed at, but eventually, the conversation circled back to his son. His boy had been a police officer in San Diego and Idaho before his tragic death. He found a video of a news story of his son delivering a baby, he was smiling in every shot, living a life that seemed full of promise. His father spoke with such pride, yet behind that pride was the heartache of a man who could not understand why his son had made the devastating choice to end his life. He had hundreds of pictures on his phone, each one telling a story, and I listened to everyone, feeling the weight of his grief and the love he still held so deeply for his son. His son had died in 2018, but to him, those memories were fresh, vivid—alive.

As we sat there, it was clear that we were meant to meet. Two Marines, bound by shared experiences, now connected through a story of love and loss. When Sunday came, and it was time to leave, I stepped outside to wait for my shuttle to the airport. A car passed by, and there he was, sitting in the passenger seat. He looked out, caught sight of me, and smiled—a smile so full of warmth and gratitude, it was almost overwhelming. He waved, and I waved back, feeling a bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow. It was a moment that will stay with me forever.

What a kind and remarkable man. He told me he was in his 70s, though he didn’t look a day over 50.

It's a small world, and you never know who you'll cross paths with that needs to talk while you're there to listen attentively.

Semper Fi, sir. I hope our paths cross again!