Family, friends remember Piestewa
Angela Cara Pancrazio
The Arizona Republic
They were the last ones to see Army Spc. Lori Ann Piestewa alive.
At the sunrise memorial service Thursday honoring her, after the prayers, the drumming, speeches and a blessing by the medicine man, the former prisoners of war - Jessica Lynch, Joseph Hudson, Shoshana Johnson and Patrick Miller - stood below Piestewa Peak, named after the fallen soldier and their friend.
There was silence as the four honored guests stood before those who had gathered in the early morning at the ramada to remember Piestewa and all other veterans that have died in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Piestewa's father and mother, Terry and Percy, had faced the four and told them, "We are all one, we thank God for bringing Joe Hudson, Patrick, Shoshana and Jessica.
Hudson sensed the admiration of the crowd, which had shook his hand and asked for his autograph and said: "The four of us are not heroes. Heroes do not come back to tell their stories."
On March 23, 2003, in the first week of the war in Iraq, Iraqi troops ambushed the Army's 507th Maintenance Company, soldiers trained to repair vehicles to keep the Army on the move. The convoy was pushed into a firefight. Eleven soldiers were killed, including Piestewa.
Three years have passed, and the former prisoners of war have tried to go on with their lives. But the scars, both physical and psychological, persist.
Piestewa's best friend, former Army Pfc. Jessica Lynch, was captured and became a national hero after her dramatic rescue from an Iraqi hospital by U.S. Marines.
Lynch, 22, has visited her best friend's parents several times, attending every memorial service.
Hudson, Johnson and Miller were captured during the attack and held as prisoners of war for 22 days.
It was not until Thursday that Hudson, Johnson and Miller could bring themselves to join the Piestewa family on the anniversary of the battle that killed their daughter, a Hopi soldier and mother of two from Tuba City.
Hudson had seen the family only briefly at a tree dedication in New Mexico. He kept himself at a distance. The last time Johnson had seen the family was the day their 507th Maintenance Company was deployed to Iraq. Miller, too, had not attended the other memorials held in Piestewa's honor.
At the last minute, Miller decided to attend the sunrise memorial service.
Standing in front of the crowd that had come to honor Piestewa, the first Native American servicewoman killed in action, Miller could not bring himself to speak. He held the tears in his blue eyes behind his dark sunglasses.
So Johnson, who had been to hell and back with Miller, spoke for him.
"Patrick wants to pass on a thank you and a God bless," Johnson said.
Miller walked away from the crowd and into the desert alone.
Lori Piestewa's mother followed him. Percy, a small woman, reached upward and wrapped her arms around the Army private's broad shoulders. She stroked his back. She wept as she turned away from Miller and walked to join her husband.
Hudson was invited to attend the Piestewa's memorial service last year, but he spent the anniversary of the attack on his convoy, alone.
"It was a very tough week," Hudson said.
The 26-year-old lives in El Paso and has an 8-year-old daughter. He retired from the Army because the routine was a constant reminder of his Iraq experience. He is still recovering from a gunshot wound to his lower left back and the multitudes of shrapnel that remain in his back.
"I have a hard time talking to families of fallen soldiers," Hudson said. "I'm still alive; I'm here, I can tell my story. I was very uneasy about coming."
This year, Hudson decided he needed to join the soldiers that had shared in an experience that no one else can understand.
"We know how to provide comfort and the friendship that we need," Hudson said.
Johnson thought hard about coming to the memorial service. Then she remembered what her friend would say in tough situations.
"We called her 'Pie.' She'd say, 'Johnson, get over it and do it.' "
Johnson, America's first Black female prisoner of war, suffered gunshot wounds in both of her legs and fractured bones in her ankles.
Johnson, too, lives in El Paso and has retired from the Army. She is studying culinary arts and is a single mother of a 5-year-old daughter.
"It takes awhile before we can see a family member of a fallen soldier," Johnson, 33, said. "Their child is gone, and we're standing here.
"I feel guilty about not being able to do something for them," she said.
The former Army cook believes Miller saved her life.
During the attack, Miller, then 23, fired on Iraqis, feeding bullets into a jammed weapon, trying to protect the wounded soldiers as the Iraqis tried to set up a mortar pit and bomb the convoy.
Miller, who remained in the Army, is married with two young children. He was awarded the Silver Star for his heroism.
In captivity, Johnson said, he sang to his captors and his fellow prisoners - off-key - country singer Toby Keith's "Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue."
"We love him," Percy Piestewa said of Miller.
As the mother whose daughter was killed in war, Piestewa says she knows the pain never goes away, the hurt never goes away.
"I know they feel guilty, we need to remind them, there's a reason why they're here.
"The feelings that they have . . . that's a sad thing because we love them."