May 27, 2013, 10:35 am 

The ‘Affectionate Burden’ Left by a Fallen Friend

By ZACHARY BELL

Zachary Bell Lance Cpl. Philip Clark in Marja, Afghanistan, in April 2010.

On May 18, 2010, I awoke to the all-too-familiar sound of an improvised explosive device detonating. But this one was different from others we had encountered in Marja, Afghanistan, that spring. This explosion shook our entire patrol, and the barking of orders that followed proved the reality of what had happened. I knew that my platoon had been hit. As I donned my gear, I began to pray for whoever might have been wounded, and that we could evacuate them as quickly as possible.
That day, in that explosion, the world lost Lance Cpl. Philip Paul Clark. (Two other Marines and a Navy corpsman were wounded but survived.) I don’t think the death of any Marine has had as deep an impact on me as his.
Corporal Clark was the type of person who could always find a silver lining, who had a natural gift at seemingly everything he put his mind to doing. He was recognized early on for his natural abilities and even passed the course for the unit’s sniper platoon on his first attempt. But he turned it down to stay with our platoon. We bonded quickly, sharing a passion for Southeastern Conference football, Southern living and being married in the Marine Corps. Philip and I spent many nights planning the future. I was nearing the end of my enlistment, but he was all but certain that he would stay in the corps and lead young men for years to come.
This was the second time Philip’s squad had been struck by an I.E.D. and the second time it had taken casualties. In the first explosion, Philip was the point man and immediately took the initiative, firing on the enemy and treating casualties. Two Marines wounded in that attack, an interpreter and a sergeant, survived, in part thanks to Philip and his quick action. The sergeant was even able to return to duty and resume his role as squad leader. But the second blast, the one that killed Philip, wounded that same sergeant, severely enough that he had to be sent home. In his absence, I was made squad leader. It was now my charge to lead these Marines who had already endured as much in one deployment as many see in a career.
We came home in July and our former squad leader greeted us with whiskey and hugs. “I am proud of you, brother,” he whispered to me. I ran to my wife and daughters, introducing myself to my younger girl, Audrey, who had been born during the deployment. But my joy at being home again was tempered by an absence: Philip was not there with us.
The next week the battalion held a memorial ceremony for our fallen and I had the honor of meeting Philip’s parents, Mike and Tammy Clark. I found myself almost speechless when the introductions were over because Mike reminded me so much of his son.
Over the years, I have remained in contact with Mike and Tammy, even after my enlistment ended. And doing so has helped me honor someone I cared deeply about. Mike and I now share the arguments I once had with his son, about the prowess of our favorite S.E.C. teams. More than that, their strength inspires me daily. Mike rides for a motorcycle club in his son’s honor and Tammy works with the Gold Star Mothers group. If they could maintain his memory, I realized, then I surely could do the same.
And that’s why this year, I decided to visit Philip’s grave for the first time, regardless of what emotions it might stir.
On May 18, I arrived with a group of the lance corporal’s friends and family members at Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell, Fla. Philip was in the front row, last on the left, next to a bench in the shade of a line of trees. I knelt beside his gravestone, leaving two pictures drawn by my daughters. Tears rolled down my face. I apologized for my inability to bring him home safe, for having waited so long to visit him. Mike and Tammy recounted the day of his burial and the hundreds of people who came to see their hero.

Zachary Bell Zachary Bell, in pink shirt, and members of his squad visited the gravesite of Philip Clark at the Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell, Fla.

And I realized that instead of pain or anger, I felt calm and at peace. In properly mourning the death of my friend, I had found the closure I had hoped for. Instead of feeling a wash of sadness when I remember Philip, I am learning instead to celebrate his life. Already we are planning to visit him again next year.
After my trip to Florida, I decided to contact an old mentor who has spent many years in the Marine Corps. A gunnery sergeant, he was known for his forceful motivational speeches before missions. Our conversation lasted for hours, and when it was ending, he left me with words I won’t soon forget. “It’s our burden, our affectionate burden,” he said, “to honor the sacrifice of the lost by keeping their memories alive.”
I accept that burden with honor and pride.

In memory of Lance Cpl. Philip Clark
Marja, Afghanistan
08/19/90 to 05/18/10
Zachary Edward Bell served with the First Battalion, Sixth Marines, from 2007-11 as a rifleman, deploying twice to Helmand Province, Afghanistan. He lives in Tennessee with his wife and two children and works for a nonprofit veterans’ organization, Not Alone. He plans to attend Lipscomb University in the fall.
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