Farewell Major Olmsted P. II

The wall of men dressed in pressed green uniforms - men responsible for the nation's defense - sobbed and crumbled in the presence of the rectangular box draped in an American flag.

The burly men in leather jackets and bushy beards standing along the sides of the chapel wiped away tears as well. The parents of the man in the casket sat in the front row and held each other.

And the dead soldier's wife simply dropped her head and cried.

"Staff Sergeant Salas," 1st Sgt. William Schroeter barked, standing erect in the center aisle.

Salas stood up amid the hundreds in attendance and answered.

"Sergeant 1st Class Parish," Schroeter said.

Parish bolted up and answered as well.

"Sergeant 1st Class Merriman," Schroeter said.

"Here," Merriman answered, standing tall.

"Major Olmsted," Schroeter called out.

Silence.

"Major Andrew Olmsted," Schroeter called again.

No answer.

"Major Andrew James Olmsted," he said, each name echoing throughout the Soldiers' Memorial Chapel.

Olmsted's widow, Amanda Wilson, trembled. She would have given anything to hear him answer. One word would do. But that would be to wish for the impossible.

In front of her, Olmsted's portrait looked back. Above the photo, there was a lone rifle with a helmet on top, emblazoned with the major's last name. His dog tags hung limply around the rifle.

Emptiness filled the Fort Carson chapel. Wilson let out a small, mournful cry. Her husband was less than five feet away from her, separated by a flag, a casket and an eternity.

2008's first casualties

Olmsted was killed in Iraq on Jan. 3 along with Capt. Thomas Casey - the first U.S. casualties of 2008. News of the 37-year-old's death swept through the blogsphere, where the soldier was an active writer at several sites, including one for the Rocky and one for Obsidian Wings.

He asked Hilary Bok, who runs Obsidian Wings, to post something he wrote in the event of his death. When Bok put it up on the site, it stirred so much interest that Olmsted's father, Wes Olmsted, said it has since been translated into several languages, including Hebrew, Farsi and Russian.

"He touched a lot of people around the world," Wes Olmsted said while stirring, not eating, his soup just prior to the funeral.

He and his wife, Nancy, had flown to Colorado on Saturday to be at Fort Carson for the service and were barely able to eat Tuesday.

Maj. Olmsted's younger brother, Eric Olmsted, tried to string together some happy memories of the two of them growing up. He chuckled quietly at a comment his brother made last year while training at Fort Riley, Kan. Andy, talking about the intellectual heft of his family - father and brother with doctorates, mother and wife with master's degrees - had said he was the "intellectual runt of the family."

"I think we all know that wasn't true," Eric Olmsted said. "He could read before my parents even knew he could read."

The major ("We always just called him Andy," his mom said) was somewhat of a Renaissance man, with interests ranging from philosophy, writing, economics and '80s music to a passionate love for the Boston Red Sox.

"He lived life to the fullest every day," longtime friend Maj. David Willis said. "There was never a challenge he did not meet head- on. There was never anything he saw that was too hard for him to take on."

That included Iraq.

While Olmsted would entertain discussions about the reasons for America's involvement in Iraq, he was fully committed to trying to fix things there. In his blog postings, he talked optimistically about the impact his unit was having and his belief in doing the job well. In his final posting, he asked everyone to not politicize his death.

'We're all going to die'

"We're all going to die of something," he wrote. "I died doing a job I loved. When your time comes, I hope you are as fortunate as I was."

But Olmsted's wish didn't stave off grief and regret at the chapel.

"More than anything else in the world, I wish I could talk to him one last time," Willis said, his voice cracking. "To laugh at his jokes, to share his thoughts and talk about whatever caught his interest that day."

The service was at Fort Carson because Olmsted had been stationed there since 1997, and Colorado Springs was where he and Amanda Wilson had made a home together. When he was ordered to Iraq, he trained at Fort Riley and got a short break before heading off last summer.

His friend, Lt. Col. Matthew Goodman, remembered his last meal with Olmsted before he shipped off. Goodman could barely tell the story at the funeral without his voice hitching.

"As we were leaving, I asked if he was good to go and if he needed anything," Goodman said. "And I'll never forget, as he put on his jacket and his signature fedora hat, he said the only thing he was going to worry about was missing his wife, Amanda."

A widow's struggle

Wilson dropped her head again, shoulders hunched forward as if they carried a giant weight. All week, the widow had been struggling with the loss. Her mother had come last week to help, but by Tuesday, Wilson still looked ashen and shell-shocked.

As everyone in the chapel stood as a row of soldiers outside fired a volley of shots and a bugler played Taps, the finality of what was happening settled hard.

The flag was lifted from the casket and was folded slowly, carefully and precisely - never to be unfolded again.

Maj. Gen. Mark Graham got on one knee and whispered words meant only for Wilson. He saluted her slowly. He then did the same for Olmsted's mother. Neither held her composure. Only the sobbing of uniformed men broke the stillness. Gov. Bill Ritter watched from a pew, stone-faced.

Then, it was time to say goodbye.

Wilson walked up to the casket and, clutching the flag, draped herself over it. She wept openly. She was unsteady on her feet, and a casualty assistance officer helped her exit the chapel - her departure followed by silence.