R
YAN
G
ETS
M
ARRIED
R
yan and I remained close after he returned to the States; in fact,
our friendship grew even stronger, which I wouldn’t have thought
possible. I felt drawn to him by his tremendous spirit. He’d been a
warrior in combat. Now he was an even greater warrior in life. You
never completely forgot that he was blind, but you also never, ever
got the impression that his disability defined him.
He had to get a prosthetic eye made, because of his wounds.
According to LT, who went with him to pick it up, he actually had
two—one was a “regular” eye; the other had a golden SEAL trident
where the iris ordinarily would be.
Once a SEAL,
always
a SEAL.
I’d been with Ryan a lot before he got hurt. A lot of the guys on
the team had a wicked sense of humor, but Ryan was in a class by
himself. He’d get you in stitches.
He wasn’t any different after he got shot. He just had a very dry
sense of humor. One day a young girl came up to him, looked at his
face, and asked, “What happened to you?”
He bent down and said, in a very serious voice, “Never run with
scissors.”
Dry, droll, and a heart of gold. You couldn’t help but love him.
W
e were all prepared to hate his girlfriend. We were sure she
would leave him after he was torn up. But she stood by him. He
finally proposed, and we were all happy about it. She is one
awesome lady.
If there is a poster child for overcoming disabilities, Ryan was it.
After the injury, he went to college, graduated with honors, and had
an excellent job waiting for him. He climbed Mount Hood, Mount
Rainer, and a bunch of other mountains; he went hunting and shot a
prize trophy elk with the help of a spotter and a gun with some bad-
ass technology; he competed in a triathlon. I remember one night
Ryan said that he was glad it was he who got shot instead of any of
the other guys. Sure he was angry at first, but he felt he was at
peace and living a full life. He felt he could handle it and be happy
no matter what. He was right.
When I think about the patriotism that drives SEALs, I am
reminded of Ryan recovering in a hospital in Bethesda, Maryland.
There he was, freshly wounded, almost fatally, and blind for life.
Many reconstructive surgeries to his face loomed ahead. You know
what he asked for? He asked for someone to wheel him to a flag
and give him some time.
He sat in his wheelchair for close to a half-hour saluting as the
American flag whipped in the wind.
That’s Ryan: a true patriot.
A genuine warrior, with a heart of gold.
Of course we all gave him shit and told him somebody probably
wheeled him in front of a Dumpster and just told him it was a flag.
Being Ryan, he dished out as many blind jokes as he took and had
us all rolling every time we talked.
When he moved away, we would chat on the phone and get
together whenever we could. In 2010, I found out he and his wife
were expecting their first child.
Meanwhile, the injuries he’d had in Iraq required further
surgeries. He went into the hospital one morning; later that
afternoon I got a call from Marcus Luttrell, asking if I had heard
about Ryan.
“Yeah. I just talked to him yesterday,” I told him. “He and his
wife are having a baby. Isn’t it great?”
“He died just a little while ago,” said Marcus, his voice quiet.
Something had gone wrong at the hospital. It was a tragic end to
a heroic life. I’m not sure any of us who knew him have gotten over
it. I don’t think I ever will.
The baby was a beautiful girl. I’m sure her father’s spirit lives on
in her.
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