This is the Civil Affairs officer whome Senators Dodd and Kerry met in Iraq who was killed this past weekend in Iraq.
CAPTAIN BRIAN FREEMAN
Mr. DODD. Mr. President, a month ago, I traveled to Iraq to meet there with our men and women in uniform. One soldier in particular stood out to me, a bright young West Point graduate, CPT Brian Freeman. Our conversation lasted for no more than 5 minutes, and yet I was immediately struck by his outspoken intelligence. ``Senator, it is nuts over here. Soldiers are being asked to do work we're not trained to do,'' he told me. ``I'm doing work that State Department people are far more prepared to do in fostering democracy, but they're not allowed to come off the bases because it's too dangerous here. It doesn't make any sense.''
Now those words have taken on a tragic resonance. Four days ago, according to media accounts, 30 gunmen disguised as U.S. officials penetrated an Iraqi checkpoint in Karbala. Once inside the Army compound, the reports say, they opened fire and mortally wounded five American soldiers.
On Sunday, Charlotte Freeman was visiting her family in Utah when she found a message on her cell phone. Army chaplains had been to her house in California. The daily e-mails from her husband Brian had stopped. I imagine that few things have more anguish in them than waiting, in suspended fear, for the news of a loved one's death. Late that afternoon, the news came.
So I rise to honor Captain Freeman and to add my voice to his family's prayers. His giving spirit and his self-sacrifice embodied all the best of our Armed Forces, whether he was working to take the son of a Karbala policeman to America for heart surgery or fighting to secure death benefits for the family of his murdered interpreter or organizing a charity to fund medical care for Iraqi children. In his duty as a liaison between the Army and the Government of Karbala Province, he proved every day his dedication to the Iraqi people; the Governor of Karbala praised him as ``a soldier and a statesman.''
But the virtues we saw in Brian shone through even clearer to those who loved him: Charlotte, his wife; his 3-year-old son Gunnar and his 14-month-old daughter Ingrid; his father Randy and his stepmother Kathy; his mother and his stepfather, Kathleen and Albert Snyder. ``Brian is a beautiful man,'' his mother-in-law, Ginny Mills, wrote to me shortly after his death.
``He is loving, funny, and intelligent. He had a spirit in him that saw the good in life. A man who put his life on the line to help those less fortunate than himself. A man who was a loving husband and a devoted father. A man whose daughter will never know him first-hand.''
In the place of a husband and father who will never see his children grow up, Brian Freeman's young family will have to live on with the warm memories of the man who loved them and who risked his life in the service of his country. Memories and words of comfort are so insufficient, so small, next to the flesh and blood. But there is nothing else to put in their place.
I have nothing else to add--except to note that the scenes of grief and comfort in the home of Charlotte Freeman have played themselves out, in some form or another, 3,000 times, in 3,000 families, for 3,000 lives. ``Each story is the same,'' wrote Ginny Mills. ``A wonderful, beautiful soul sacrificed.''
``I cannot understand that this war goes on and on,'' she wrote. ``It has to stop. It has to stop now and I need to know how to do that.''
May God send comfort to her and to all of Captain Freeman's family and to every family that is bereaved. And may we remember, in every hour of our deliberations, the young lives that bear the burden of the choices we make in this Chamber.
Congressional Record, Jan 24, 2007.