I've been putting off writing this one for a few days, both in deference to a bereaved family—it's their prerogative to frame the message regarding their daughter's death—and because, frankly, this one hurts more than most and I just didn't know what to say.
Major Megan McClung, USMC, is dead. Megan was the Public Affairs Officer for Ready First Combat Team in Ramadi, Iraq. She died Wednesday, December 6, cut down by an IED while researching a story.
I met Megan my plebe year at Navy. I had managed to rip the skin off the sole of my foot while boxing—seriously bad shoes—and was having the bloody mess cut off my foot in the downstairs clinic when this tiny redhead walked up and demanded to inspect my injury. It threw me, I guess, because the stranger was (a) a plebe just like me—not medical staff—and (b) she was far more attractive than any girl in plebe P.T. gear with athletic socks pulled halfway up her thighs has any right to be.
Meg asked me if my foot hurt, and when I allowed as how it might, she suggested I might like a little cheese with my whine. Over the following few weeks, I came to understand this as a classic example of McClung firtatiousness. The girl was a world-class gymnast and triathlete, had a sense of humor that could peel paint at a hundred paces, and was pretty much the coolest girl I had ever met.
I just had to date her.
I did, too, for about six weeks, at least inasmuch as plebes at the Naval Academy are able to date one another. When Meg ultimately handed me my walking papers, she was so damned decent about it that I'm not sure I even walked away with hurt feelings. That was Meg in a nutshell: sassy, smart, and just plain good people. It was impossible not to find a grin on your face when she was in the room.
Ultimately Meg took her commission in the Marine Corps, and—judging from the messages of condolence I've been priveleged to see—her Marines loved her just as much as the rest of us did. I lost track of Meg after graduation, but even at a distance of over a decade I feel her loss keenly... it's as if a little red-headed light has gone out of the world.
So...
Hey, Red, I'm sorry for what those cowardly bastards did to you. We'll get our pound of flesh—your Marines will see to that—but that just won't be the same, will it? It's an honor and a pleasure to have known you, and I wish so much that I'd taken the time over the years to drop you a line and let you know just how often you're in my thoughts. That won't stop, though, and I'm sure there are thousands of us out here who feel exactly the same way.
Fair winds, kiddo.