On Borrowed Time

A Reflection on Brotherhood, Mortality, and the News That Hit Like a Ton of Bricks

There are days when life moves in a straight line, routine, predictable, almost numb.

And then there are days when a single phone call rips you out of that rhythm and reminds you how fragile all of this really is.

Three weeks ago was that kind of day.

I received the heartbreaking news that one of my military brothers, someone who climbed all the way to the rank of Command Sergeant Major, suffered a stroke. He is young. Too young for something like that. The kind of young where you still believe you have decades ahead to settle into the comfort of old age and long stories.

I will leave his name out to protect his privacy. But my heart won’t let me stay silent about what this news stirred inside me.

A Time Machine of Memories

The moment I read the message, it felt like the world slowed down. It was as if I’d been thrown into a time machine, back to the apartment we shared, back to the nights we stayed up too late talking about life, back to the weekends we partied like we were invincible, back to the moments we grieved together the way only soldiers understand.

We were roommates.

We were brothers.

Not only that, but we grew up together in a world where tomorrow was never promised.

I remember watching our families grow, kids who weren’t even born when we first met are now adults. I remember watching us grow, too. From rowdy privates who didn’t know anything to hardened NCO’s who had seen too much.

And after 30+ years, I can say this truth without hesitation:

I am closer to him than I am to most of my own family.

Because what we shared wasn’t just time, it was transformation. It was hardship, loss, pride and fear. It was all the things that carve a man into who he becomes.

A Brotherhood That Defies Everything

When I shared the news with our other brothers, the response was immediate and overwhelming. Prayers, messages, calls, men from every corner of the country, from every color, creed, and background.

That’s the thing civilians rarely understand.

We didn’t come from the same town or city.

We didn’t come from the same upbringing.

We didn’t come from the same anything.

Except the uniform.

And that was enough to bind us for life.

There is no brotherhood stronger than the military brotherhood. Only those who have served know what that truly means. We are tighter than family because we endured the kind of hardship together that no one else ever will. We lived through nights where only trust stood between us and death. Furthermore, we carried each other, literally and emotionally, through the perils of a world most people will never see.

So when tragedy strikes one of us, it hits all of us.

Hard.

Lonely Holidays and Borrowed Time

As we enter the holiday season, I’m reminded of all the years I spent abroad, away from home, away from family. You learn quickly in those moments that all you really have is the man to your left and the man to your right. We were strangers who became family because the mission demanded it, and because our hearts allowed it.

Now my brother is fighting a different battle. A quiet, internal one. A battle that strength and rank cannot outrun.

He isn’t out of the woods yet. We are praying for him, each in our own way. And no matter what happens, I can say this with absolute conviction:

He lived life his way.

From a hard-nosed private to a badass Command Sergeant Major.

He carved his path with grit, discipline, and fire.

What This Has Taught Me

This news shook something loose inside me.

We are all on borrowed time.

Every minute is a loan, not a guarantee.

And going forward?

The small things won’t bother me anymore.

I won’t let petty people or petty problems steer my mind or steal my peace.

I will lead with conviction, real conviction, the kind forged in loss and loyalty.

Not only that, but I will remind myself every day that I have a band of brothers who will always have my back…

…and who will, when my own time comes, throw dirt on my casket and send me off with the same honor we lived by.

To My Brother

Whom I hope can read this.

But I want the world to know the truth:

You matter.

You shaped men.

You led from the front.

You loved fiercely.

And you lived fully.

We’re with you.

We’re praying for you.

And we’re not going anywhere.

Because brotherhood doesn’t end when the uniform comes off.

It doesn’t end at retirement.

It doesn’t end with rank.

It doesn’t end with distance.

It only ends when the last of us takes his final breath.

Until then, we fight for each other.

Always.

“Do not act as if you had ten thousand years to live. Life is slipping away. While you still can, while you still live, while it is in your power—embrace the day.”

— Marcus Aurelius