“You’re going to be OK, just stay with me. Just stay with me,” Chris said, his voice cracking. “You’re going to be OK, you’re going to be OK, you’re going to be OK…” Chris repeated until his voice was nothing more than a faint whisper.

Then Chris heard a voice, much louder and less shaky than his own. “Chris, he’s gone,” said the Company Commander. “He was dead before the trucks even made it back to base.”

Chris carefully laid the body on the ground and watched as a fellow soldier checked for a pulse that was never heard.

Still in shock, Chris stared aimlessly as the fallen soldier, one of his best friends, was placed into a black vinyl body bag.

Chris Dellerba, a member of the U.S. Army’s 101st Infantry Division, was sent to war in Iraq only two days after his twentieth birthday. Although he has lost many friends along the way, the death of his friend Sergeant Garvey was by far the most traumatic for him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my life, but I wish that it would have been me instead of Sergeant Garvey,” said Chris, tears filling his eyes. “Everyday I wish that it would have been me.”

Although Chris was shot in the left shoulder while in Baghdad, the emotional hardships that he endured far outweigh any of the physical wounds that he received.

While in Iraq, thousands of miles stood between Chris and everything he had ever known. The separation that he felt from his family and friends back home in Woodstock, Ga. was agonizing.

“You get so lonely sometimes,” the young soldier explains. “When you’re getting shot at, you don’t really have time to think. You’re too busy running and ducking and firing back. Everyone’s yelling, and things just happen so fast. It’s after all the chaos winds down that you start to think.”

Late at night when Chris stood guard by himself, his mind would flood with memories of the life he left behind, and he would become extremely homesick.

“I thought about my family a lot when I was out there alone,” Chris replied in a solemn tone. “I missed everyone: my friends, Mom, Dad, even my dog Sammy,” he said. It was almost five months after Chris was deployed before could call home.

For Chris, the silence of the night was torture because it allowed him so much time to reminisce and think about his relationships back at home.

“After a while, you start to drive yourself crazy. I remember looking up at the stars and thinking about the people that meant the most to me. I’d think about all of the things I should have said to them when I had the chance. It’s funny, the things you think about when you’re lonely,” said Chris.

At times, it was extremely difficult for Chris to think about his loved ones in the United States; however, it was their love that helped to keep him alive.

“There were so many times when I just wanted to give up, but I promised my mom and my best friend that I would come back with all of my fingers and toes.” Chris waved his fingers in the air and said with a smile, “I never break a promise.”

He then went on to say, “I had so many people write to me when I was over there; I was really lucky. You just don’t know how much a letter means. You think, big deal, it’s a letter, a piece of paper. What people don’t understand is that those letters are your life line to the people that you love and everything that you’re trying to get back to. They give you hope. I read every letter at least two or three times.”

Chris paused for a moment, reached down the collar of his shirt, and pulled out his silver army tags. His army tags, which contain life-saving information, such as blood type, were wrapped in such a way that the information couldn’t be read.

“They’re taped together because I knew that nothing was going to happen to me before I made it back home. I knew that I had too much waiting for me; too much to live for.”

After facing the perils of war for an entire year, Chris arrived home on August 12 of this year. “I’ve never been so relieved in all my life,” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “But living back at home wasn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be.”

Chris had a difficult time becoming reacquainted with his old environment. “I was so happy to see my parents, and I couldn’t wait to see my friends, but almost everyone was gone. My best friend and most of my good friends had moved out of Woodstock and were going to college. It was really weird.”

Chris describes feeling as if the world had passed him by. His little sister, Jen, had matured so much when he was gone. “I didn’t even recognize my own sister. It was like everything had changed.”

Chris found that his days were long and hard to fill, but his nights were even longer.

“It was probably about two or three months before I actually slept the whole night through. It was awesome to be back in my own bed; but I just couldn’t sleep!” Chris said with a laugh. “My body was used to practically staying up all night. And when I did fall asleep, it was never for very long. I had really bad nightmares.”

Chris paused for a moment and then replied, “I still do. You know, the army teaches you to do, not to feel. But you’re only human. Eventually, the things you do, the things you have to do, catch up with you. And then they haunt you.”

Chris is now stationed at Fort Campbell in Clarkesville, Kentucky. It has been only two months since he has been back in the United States.

“I’m looking forward to staying put for a while,” said Chris. “We’re not supposed to ship out again until June of next year. Really, that can change at the drop of a hat, but I’m just hoping that I’ll be home for Christmas this year.”

Chris’ contract with the army will be up in July 2006. For the moment, he works Monday through Friday at Fort Campbell, but he hopes to be a college student. “I’m sick of playing soldier,” said Chris. “I just want to be a kid again.”

He would like to attend Georgia Southern University and pursue a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice.

Although the young soldier is very excited about attending college, he admits that he is somewhat nervous. “It’s been so long since I’ve written a paper or anything like that. I think I’d rather get shot at!” he said with a chuckle.

Chris Dellerba hopes to work for the FBI and start a family sometime within the next five or six years.

“When I start a family and I have kids, I want them to join something safe like SGA or the band or something,” Chris said with a huge smile. “I don’t want them to join the army. I never want them to see the things that I’ve seen or do the things that I’ve done—the things I had to do.”