* The names and locations have been changed to protect the privacy of the families involved.
It was 3:40 in the morning, Friday, May 25, 2008, when the phone rang.
My wife, Andrea, awakened from a deep sleep, stumbled out of bed and picked up the receiver. She sleepily mumbled a response, trying to sound awake but struggling with the words. Through my own sleepy daze, I could hear the faint tone of an official sounding voice that asked, "Is Captain Turcotte there?"
My heart sank as I tried to imagine what had happened. I frantically went through my mind trying to think which one of my soldiers it could be. I struggled out of bed, trying not to sound as sleepy as I was.
"Padre, this is Lieutenant Colonel Clegget. We have lost one of our soldiers. Are you available to do the Next of Kin notification with me?? "Absolutely Sir," I responded. "Who is it?"
After a brief shuffle of papers he answered, "Corporal Jonathan Knight.? He told me there was some confusion with the soldier's Next of Kin form and the military was still trying to confirm some details. All we knew was that his mother lived in either Orangeville or Alliston, Ontario.
With his promise to get back to me with more details as soon as possible, I said goodbye to Col. Clegget and began to organize myself for the coming day. Over the next hour-and-a-half, I prepared my uniform and received information updates. I located a booklet from some Next of Kin information training I had taken just months before. I wanted to review the process I was about to enter.
As I read the words in the manual, the weight of what I was about to do sat heavy on my chest. My mind imagined the scene and I thought of what would happen when we said the dreaded words no parent would want to hear. The lump in my throat felt like a softball, but I knew we had a job to do and, regardless of how I felt, this was the time to step up and do my part.
At approximately 5:30 that morning, Col. Clegget confirmed our mission and we set a rendezvous point. Half an hour later we were on our way to Alliston, where Cpl. Knight's mother, the primary next of kin, lived. As we drove, we reviewed our training and decided who would say what, practicing the words out loud.
After what seemed like the longest drive in history, some 40 minutes later we arrived at the house and drove into the driveway. Taking a deep breath, we approached the house. Suddenly, the garage door sprang open and a man appeared. He was as startled as we were and for a moment we all just stared at each other, not sure what to do next. He broke the silence. "Oh! Can I help you?"
At this point, not knowing his relation to Cpl. Knight, we told him we had some news we needed to share with Mrs. Knight. All of a sudden, the reason for our presence became very clear to him. His eyes widened like saucers and he breathed a deep "Oh NO," and went storming into the house, frantically calling young Jonathan's mother to wake her up. We found out later this man was Mrs. Knight's fiancé.
He came back and led us into the living room. We waited.
Moments later, Mrs. Knight walked out in her housecoat, clearly having been wakened from a sound sleep. We gently invited her to sit.
"Mrs. Knight," Col. Clegget said softly, "I'm sorry to tell you that your son, Jonathan, has been killed in Afghanistan." Those words for her and her fiancé were like a second bomb, and in the time it took to speak them, her life had changed forever. She responded with what seemed like shock and total disbelief and, surprisingly, showed little emotion.
After an eternal pause, I broke the silence and asked if there was anything we could do to help, such as make some phone calls to other family. She politely declined but did, however, request that the military notify Jonathan's father in British Colombia.
Once we had covered a number of other items and after some awkward conversation, we asked if there was anything else we could do. Her empty voice responded with a simple, "No thank you . . . actually, I think we just need some time by ourselves." Respecting her wishes and feeling that she had the comfort and support of her fiancé, we expressed our regrets and left the home.
As we walked out of the house, I couldn't help but feel like I had become the angel of death. To Jonathan's mother and her family, Col. Clegget and I were the messengers of doom and likely the people they least wanted to be around.
On that day, the war became personal to me and the reality of what it meant changed my life forever. In the millisecond of time it takes for a bomb to explode, a soldier who'd started years before as a member of my own unit, had now become the latest casualty in a war half-a-world-away.
