"A good life is when you assume nothing, do more, smile often, dream big, laugh a lot, and realize how blessed you are for what you have."April 5th, 2013 marked the launch of the Captain Jonathan D. Grassbaugh Veteran's Project at the Moritz College of Law. Expressing my gratitude for the support of the countless people who helped to make this dream a reality does not seem possible - I am indebted to my family, my friends, the law school faculty, and the wonderful community of which I am proud to be a part. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I cannot wait to witness students help change the lives of those who risk all for our freedom.
~Unknown
At what is usually an incredibly difficult time of year for me, I feel remarkable peace and happiness. Jon was never one to brag or seek praise, but I have to think he'd be "fair chuffed," as we say in Scotland, at all the attention he's attracted recently. I think it's important to point out that it was an absolutely beautiful day for the event yesterday, and I have to believe that was Jon's doing. He's smiling down on us from heaven, of that I have no doubt. And for that, I am most grateful.
My husband once told me that, despite the challenges life, law school, and the future might bring, at the end of the day all that mattered was that we had each other. He told me that I could smile with that knowledge, and with the knowledge that he would love me through the best of the best times and the worst of the worst.
He was standing at a payphone in Iraq when he uttered these words. Just a few months later, the worst of the worst times would begin for us. Well, not for us. But, rather, for me. Because, you see, on April 7th, 2007, the man I committed with all my heart and soul to spend the rest of my life with was killed in action serving our great country. He was doing what he loved and what all good leaders do when his truck was hit by a massive Improvised Explosive Device. A few short weeks earlier, he’d sent me a Valentine’s Day card describing how much he looked forward to growing old together and enjoying all life has to offer for many years into the future. This dream, however, was not to be. He was twenty-five years old when he died.
The bomb that ended my husband’s life came very close to shattering and completely destroying mine. I was lost and without a purpose for a very long time. Although I threw myself into work and memorial projects in my husband’s memory, nothing could ease the sadness I felt every time I picked up the phone, hoping to hear Jon’s voice, and realizing for the millionth time that he would not – could not – be there. Nothing seemed to lift the emotional weight that crushed my will to keep going whenever I contemplated living ten, twenty, perhaps even seventy more years without the one person I always said I couldn’t live without. I spent many nights in a state of absolute panic, asking why over and over again, despite knowing that no answer would ever be good enough.
For me, this project represents my attempt to turn my worst nightmare into a positive good. I have come so far emotionally, but I know I can still do so much more physically for those who deserve it most. Within a few months of Jon’s death, I became involved with other widows and family support groups, but I was missing the other side of the coin, the side that encompassed my husband’s military experience and, now, my own. That, of course, is the experience of the veteran. As I’ve realized recently, not everyone understands exactly what constitutes a veteran or can appreciate the kind of unique legal issues they often face after returning home from what might be their first, second, or even fifth deployment. A veteran is anyone who has served overseas during a time of war. It is not, necessarily, the forty-five-year-old Colonel who retires with full benefits after twenty years. Instead, it might very well be the Staff Sergeant who served two tours in Iraq, one in Afghanistan, and then separates from the Army after seven years of service with child support payments, debt issues, and severe post-traumatic stress disorder. This project is my attempt to spare those veterans who have already paid a heavy price for our freedom by addressing their issues earlier in the process at a time when we can still prevent the worst of the worst from befalling our nation’s heroes.
You know, the truth is that I really wish I didn’t have a reason to be standing up here before you today. I wish I didn’t have a reason to be talking about my husband and what he stood for…in the past tense. People say that everything happens for a reason, though that’s a mantra I’ve struggled with constantly over the past six years. I’ve been unable to fathom what reason there could possibly be for becoming a widow at the age of 22. At that age, many people haven’t yet been lucky enough to experience the kind of love that takes your breath away, much less experience it fleetingly…and then lose it. I certainly had absolutely no idea of what to do when two uniformed officers showed up at my door and told me that the man I’d fallen in love with at the age of 18 would not be coming home alive. Nor did I have any idea of what to do when they handed me a check for several hundred thousand dollars – a check that essentially represented my husband’s way of making sure that I’d be taken care of if our worst nightmare should ever become a reality. But now I do know what to do. And perhaps the reason for everything is becoming a little more clear. This work and this project mean more to me than any material thing that money could ever buy. This is my husband’s legacy and it’s one that will go on long after I’m gone too. It means that my other very worst fear will not come true – that being that, in time, he’ll be forgotten.
Jon once paid me what I think is the ultimate compliment someone can ever pay another person in this world. He told me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. You know, it’s pretty easy to be a good person and feel happy when everything is good and everything is easy. But being able to look back on those good times and say you feel better about the person you are now because of what you’ve learned about yourself from the bad times – now that is true happiness. The reality is that he made me better. And he still does. I’m a better friend, a better daughter, a better Soldier, and a better person because of what he was able to do in what most people require a lifetime to achieve. President Abraham Lincoln once said that it’s not the years in a life – it’s the life in the years. When I visit Jon at Arlington National Cemetery this weekend on the sixth anniversary of his death, that’s exactly what I plan to tell him. I’ll tell him it’s taken me six years to be able to say it out loud, but I think I’ve finally been able to reach a point where I can live the kind of life he’d be proud of in however many years I have to live it.
I’m going to be a little selfish here for a moment and say I honestly do hope, at some point, that I find love like that again. I think everyone deserves to be with someone who would happily move heaven and earth just to see them smile. I don’t know that it will ever happen – Jon set the bar awfully high – but what I’ve learned is that he’s still rooting for me every step of the way, even though he’s not here to tell me so himself. I won’t lie. It’s hard to be the one who’s left behind. I wake up many days and think “Oh my God, this is not my life…” But this is my life, and I am still here. And while I’m still here, I’ve made it my task to ensure that I try to make the kind of difference in the lives of others that Jon made in mine. As I sat down to write this speech, I realized that despite all the blog entries I’ve composed over this past year, all the articles I’ve written about our story, and the countless times I’ve relayed to complete strangers just how amazing he was, I really didn’t know what to say. How do you do justice in words to a life that speaks for itself?
Perhaps, instead, I will end with Jon’s own words in an attempt to illustrate the kind of love he had for me and the selflessness he demonstrated in how he lived his life. In preparing for our wedding ceremony, Jon and I, at the behest of our minister, each filled out a questionnaire about our relationship and our thoughts on love. One of the questions was “where is your sacred spot, a place you feel most at peace, most connected, or most inspired?” In typical future lawyer-like fashion, my answer to this question was very long, very detailed, and very rational in structure. Jon’s answer, on the other hand, was very short and simple, but spoke volumes. His answer was “with my wife.” The final question was “what is the motto you live by?” I, thinking ahead to all the things I looked forward to enjoying with Jon in the future, said “carpe diem – seize the day.” Jon, as always, focused on the bigger picture. His answer was “non sibi” – which is Latin for “not for oneself.” This Veterans Project is the very epitome of that philosophy and embodies the meaning of his sacrifice more than any words I can offer here today. To say that I am thankful to each and every one of you for being here understates my immense gratitude. Despite being over half way toward my goal of becoming a lawyer, I do not have the words to express how humbled I feel in seeing this project come to fruition. Thank you, and to my husband, my angel – may you rest in peace until we meet again. I love you - always and forever.
Keynote Speech – April 5th, 2013
My husband once told me that, despite the challenges life, law school, and the future might bring, at the end of the day all that mattered was that we had each other. He told me that I could smile with that knowledge, and with the knowledge that he would love me through the best of the best times and the worst of the worst.
He was standing at a payphone in Iraq when he uttered these words. Just a few months later, the worst of the worst times would begin for us. Well, not for us. But, rather, for me. Because, you see, on April 7th, 2007, the man I committed with all my heart and soul to spend the rest of my life with was killed in action serving our great country. He was doing what he loved and what all good leaders do when his truck was hit by a massive Improvised Explosive Device. A few short weeks earlier, he’d sent me a Valentine’s Day card describing how much he looked forward to growing old together and enjoying all life has to offer for many years into the future. This dream, however, was not to be. He was twenty-five years old when he died.
The bomb that ended my husband’s life came very close to shattering and completely destroying mine. I was lost and without a purpose for a very long time. Although I threw myself into work and memorial projects in my husband’s memory, nothing could ease the sadness I felt every time I picked up the phone, hoping to hear Jon’s voice, and realizing for the millionth time that he would not – could not – be there. Nothing seemed to lift the emotional weight that crushed my will to keep going whenever I contemplated living ten, twenty, perhaps even seventy more years without the one person I always said I couldn’t live without. I spent many nights in a state of absolute panic, asking why over and over again, despite knowing that no answer would ever be good enough.
For me, this project represents my attempt to turn my worst nightmare into a positive good. I have come so far emotionally, but I know I can still do so much more physically for those who deserve it most. Within a few months of Jon’s death, I became involved with other widows and family support groups, but I was missing the other side of the coin, the side that encompassed my husband’s military experience and, now, my own. That, of course, is the experience of the veteran. As I’ve realized recently, not everyone understands exactly what constitutes a veteran or can appreciate the kind of unique legal issues they often face after returning home from what might be their first, second, or even fifth deployment. A veteran is anyone who has served overseas during a time of war. It is not, necessarily, the forty-five-year-old Colonel who retires with full benefits after twenty years. Instead, it might very well be the Staff Sergeant who served two tours in Iraq, one in Afghanistan, and then separates from the Army after seven years of service with child support payments, debt issues, and severe post-traumatic stress disorder. This project is my attempt to spare those veterans who have already paid a heavy price for our freedom by addressing their issues earlier in the process at a time when we can still prevent the worst of the worst from befalling our nation’s heroes.
You know, the truth is that I really wish I didn’t have a reason to be standing up here before you today. I wish I didn’t have a reason to be talking about my husband and what he stood for…in the past tense. People say that everything happens for a reason, though that’s a mantra I’ve struggled with constantly over the past six years. I’ve been unable to fathom what reason there could possibly be for becoming a widow at the age of 22. At that age, many people haven’t yet been lucky enough to experience the kind of love that takes your breath away, much less experience it fleetingly…and then lose it. I certainly had absolutely no idea of what to do when two uniformed officers showed up at my door and told me that the man I’d fallen in love with at the age of 18 would not be coming home alive. Nor did I have any idea of what to do when they handed me a check for several hundred thousand dollars – a check that essentially represented my husband’s way of making sure that I’d be taken care of if our worst nightmare should ever become a reality. But now I do know what to do. And perhaps the reason for everything is becoming a little more clear. This work and this project mean more to me than any material thing that money could ever buy. This is my husband’s legacy and it’s one that will go on long after I’m gone too. It means that my other very worst fear will not come true – that being that, in time, he’ll be forgotten.
Jon once paid me what I think is the ultimate compliment someone can ever pay another person in this world. He told me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. You know, it’s pretty easy to be a good person and feel happy when everything is good and everything is easy. But being able to look back on those good times and say you feel better about the person you are now because of what you’ve learned about yourself from the bad times – now that is true happiness. The reality is that he made me better. And he still does. I’m a better friend, a better daughter, a better Soldier, and a better person because of what he was able to do in what most people require a lifetime to achieve. President Abraham Lincoln once said that it’s not the years in a life – it’s the life in the years. When I visit Jon at Arlington National Cemetery this weekend on the sixth anniversary of his death, that’s exactly what I plan to tell him. I’ll tell him it’s taken me six years to be able to say it out loud, but I think I’ve finally been able to reach a point where I can live the kind of life he’d be proud of in however many years I have to live it.
I’m going to be a little selfish here for a moment and say I honestly do hope, at some point, that I find love like that again. I think everyone deserves to be with someone who would happily move heaven and earth just to see them smile. I don’t know that it will ever happen – Jon set the bar awfully high – but what I’ve learned is that he’s still rooting for me every step of the way, even though he’s not here to tell me so himself. I won’t lie. It’s hard to be the one who’s left behind. I wake up many days and think “Oh my God, this is not my life…” But this is my life, and I am still here. And while I’m still here, I’ve made it my task to ensure that I try to make the kind of difference in the lives of others that Jon made in mine. As I sat down to write this speech, I realized that despite all the blog entries I’ve composed over this past year, all the articles I’ve written about our story, and the countless times I’ve relayed to complete strangers just how amazing he was, I really didn’t know what to say. How do you do justice in words to a life that speaks for itself?
Perhaps, instead, I will end with Jon’s own words in an attempt to illustrate the kind of love he had for me and the selflessness he demonstrated in how he lived his life. In preparing for our wedding ceremony, Jon and I, at the behest of our minister, each filled out a questionnaire about our relationship and our thoughts on love. One of the questions was “where is your sacred spot, a place you feel most at peace, most connected, or most inspired?” In typical future lawyer-like fashion, my answer to this question was very long, very detailed, and very rational in structure. Jon’s answer, on the other hand, was very short and simple, but spoke volumes. His answer was “with my wife.” The final question was “what is the motto you live by?” I, thinking ahead to all the things I looked forward to enjoying with Jon in the future, said “carpe diem – seize the day.” Jon, as always, focused on the bigger picture. His answer was “non sibi” – which is Latin for “not for oneself.” This Veterans Project is the very epitome of that philosophy and embodies the meaning of his sacrifice more than any words I can offer here today. To say that I am thankful to each and every one of you for being here understates my immense gratitude. Despite being over half way toward my goal of becoming a lawyer, I do not have the words to express how humbled I feel in seeing this project come to fruition. Thank you, and to my husband, my angel – may you rest in peace until we meet again. I love you - always and forever.
Link to the footage from yesterday's launch:
Link to ABC's video coverage of the event:
Jenna, you are an amazing woman!!! To deal with all you have had to, at such a young age...with such grace... I know it has not been easy for you. The road has been difficult, but you are an inspiration. Beautiful on the inside and out. What a wonderful legacy you have created in Jon's memory. How fabulous to be able to help veterans in this way.
ReplyDeleteI salute you!!!