Rest In Peace, My Friend

Almost a year ago I lost a dear friend in Afghanistan. After his passing, his wife asked that those who knew him write a letter to their unborn twins, so they could learn as they grew older about what kind of man their daddy was. This is one of the most personal things I’ve ever written. I’m sharing it here to bring awareness to Sergeant Bill Cahir and his Memorial Fund; and to also spread awareness about the very real and human cost of life after war.


*   *   *

Dear Cahir children,

My experiences with your father were brief and fleeting. Despite this, he became a man I admired more than I might be able to say. I know many people will have similar reflections of your dad. This is who he was. You will learn as you age: most people are content to just go through the motions of life; to only focus on themselves and their things. Your father loved your mother, he cherished his Marines, and he treasured this country and the people of the world. This is what brought about his death. I will not refer to his passing as a tragedy – it is only a tragedy that more people do not have the same kind of heart as him.

I first met your father shortly after he returned from his first deployment in helping consolidate the freedom of the people of Iraq. His duties there included making the the Iraqi government, education, healthcare, and security systems strong, so that the Iraqi children might be able to enjoy the same hopes, dreams, and freedoms that you will. Perhaps you will learn that the Iraq War was controversial, or even a waste of time, or a misdirection of our Global War on Terror. However the conflict will be remembered, your dad helped give thousands of strangers – some hostile to him – better lives and futures. I can think of no greater love, no greater sacrifice.

Your dad was a corporal and I was a lance corporal, one rank below him. Bill did not abuse his authority or take advantage of his status. We were assigned to serve in the same detachment of our Marine Reserve unit, Detachment 1 of the 4th Civil Affairs Group, and your father took his responsibility for my wellbeing most seriously. We connected quickly as we both shared an interest in writing and politics. In fact, in no small way, I have evolved into a writer myself due to your father's inspiration and practical guidance.

Your father maintained a professionalism and fervor in our unit. He enjoyed managing the welfare and training of his Marines. He was a legend in our unit and respected by all. To put that in context for you, the Marine Corps is a place for large egos and dominating personalities. To be well respected by all in such a hardcore and selective organization is certainly an impressive achievement.


I was assigned to serve with your father for his second deployment – which was supposed to be my third – and during our pre-deployment training, I learned more from him about Iraq and our mission than I had ever known, even despite already serving two tours. He took to intelligence gathering and cultural reporting about the situation on the ground and our role as Civil Affairs Marines with such dedication, I have no doubt that his wisdom and guidance helped preserve the lives of many of the Marines in our unit when they did deploy.

For a short time, your dad's life and my life were bound to similar fates. We were going to go to war together. We were responsible for each other's lives, and that is a sacred bond most people will never understand or experience. Thank God most people will not understand this terror, anxiety, and fear. They will not have to understand because of the voluntary service of people like your dad. Hero is a word that is tossed around and blurred through overuse. It shames me as a writer that I have no better word or expression to use for the greatness that was your father.

I did not wind up traveling to Iraq with your dad. After a diagnosis of mono (an ailment that causes significant long-term fatigue), it was decided by my unit and myself that I was not fit for combat and deployment. Your father was sad that I could not serve with him, and it upset me that I couldn’t go, too.
I am a sliver of darkness in the shadow that was your dad – a legendary man whose example I am sure will ring in annals of history, courage, and Marine Corps lore.

I am ashamed that I have nothing more to say.

Even though it is likely I will never see you or meet you, I want you to know if you ever need anything from me, look me up and you will have it. If it was I to die in the same circumstances as your father, I have no doubt that he would do the same for me. And I will always cherish his memory for it.

Much love and respect,

Dario Steven DiBattista Jr. (USMCR Corporal, 4th Civil Affairs Group 2001 - 2007)

~ Semper Fidelis ~

Connect with Dario online:

Personal Website (Free Writing, Podcast, Dario in the Media, Biography, Books, Blogs)

20 Something Magazine (Editor-in-Chief, Creator)

JMWW Literary Journal (Senior Nonfiction Editor)

The Veterans Writing Project (Instructor, Nonfiction Editor)

LinkedIn (Professional Stuff)

Facebook (Be my friend?)