The lives illuminated by her

Rebecca was my brother David’s second oldest daughter. We are a small clan. I am Rebecca’s only uncle and my wife Cindy is her only aunt. Our family is devastated by this loss, especially David, his wife Mary Lee, and Rebecca’s four amazing siblings, Elizabeth, Alli, Daniel, and Katherine. Nothing could be worse for a parent or a family.

Rebecca was a highly accomplished young woman who excelled at everything she attempted, from athletics to academics to her career in the Army. She was an experienced, competent, and careful pilot.

She also served as a military host at the White House, where her poise, maturity, and knowledge of the executive mansion’s history were a benefit to visiting dignitaries and the First Family, as well as random tourists. I was privileged to go on a tour there with her. Everyone at the White House knew her and had to give her a hug.

Rebecca had been serving her country since she graduated from college (University of North Carolina) six years ago and was very happy in the military. She planned to marry a fellow officer and anticipated a career as a medical doctor, the profession of her parents, following her military service.

The months since Rebecca’s sudden passing have been marked by a dark shadow. Saying goodbye to her has been long and hard, and only partially satisfying to those who loved and admired her.

My brother’s and my entire families were blessed to attend a military memorial service in early February for the three-member Black Hawk helicopter crew at their base at Fort Belvoir, Virginia. It was one of the worst and one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. Literally dozens of soldiers and others quietly came up to us afterwards to tell us stories about Rebecca’s skills as a pilot and her qualities as a leader, amazing deeds she performed, and challenges she overcame.

We also heard numerous anecdotes tearfully presented to us privately after the ceremony from many folks who served above, with or under Rebecca. They told us how she had illuminated their lives, positively affected their careers, and encouraged them to be their best selves.

We had a similar experience at a memorial service in Durham, North Carolina, over the last weekend in February, with even more color added to the portrait of Rebecca by her family, friends, and colleagues, all of whom are coping with a sense of overwhelming grief and loss.

Although I can claim no credit for Rebecca’s indomitable spirit or any of the remarkable accomplishments of her short life, I was and am still a very proud uncle, her only uncle.

The last roll call

The military has had far too many opportunities to perfect its processes for recognizing those who have fallen long before their time in the line of duty.

Among those that played a part in remembering Rebecca were the painfully “slow salutes”, which literally hundreds gave in a long, respectful succession at the Fort Belvoir ceremony.

There is the playing of Taps, and the flags. There are the empty boots, inverted rifle, and helmet with night vision goggles (pictured). There's the “Missing Man” formation, a fly-over at the North Carolina services by a helicopter squadron, with one bird missing in the middle (photo below).

The "Missing Man" formation.

The military also use their language. Many have signed off on supportive posts with “We have the watch, Ma’am.” They mean to acknowledge that Rebecca has served her country well, that she had made the ultimate sacrifice, and that her fellow soldiers will take up the watch which she can no longer stand. We have also heard many times a slogan of Army Aviation: “Blue Skies and Tailwinds.” Like the old Irish blessing of the road rising up to meet you and the wind being always at your back, these words are for the hard days and also for happier times.

Perhaps the most poignant and evocative of the military’s traditions is the last roll call. (I have a hard time typing this.) A big-voiced Sergeant calls out the names initially of a few who are present and then the name of the lost, like this:

• Sergeant: Lieutenant Harris.
• Harris: Present, Sergeant Major.
• Sergeant: Corporal Gillespie.
• Gillespie: Present, Sergeant Major.
• Sergeant: Private Casey.
• Casey: Present, Sergeant Major.
• Sergeant: Captain Lobach.
• [Silence]
• Sergeant: Captain Rebecca Lobach.
• [Silence]
• Sergeant: Captain Rebecca Marie Lobach
• [Silence]

From a rifle squad then come three consecutive volleys of shots. Anyone who is not crying by then has not been paying attention. Gigantic, muscle-bound enlisted men have tears streaming down their faces. Family members of the deceased are sobbing. There is an exquisite pain which comes with this, but also a comforting solidarity with everyone who is present and sharing the loss.

Outstanding beyond words, however measured

Shortly after the accident that ended Rebecca's life, my brother and his wife issued a statement that spoke for our whole family. There were also articles like this one, in which Rebecca's friends shared their memories and talked about how she guided them to their best choices. “I think what people need to know," Rebecca's best friend Samantha said, "Is she was just incredible — patriotic and wonderful.”

So far this seems not to have done much to curtail the fictional accounts and uninformed opinions in some media circles and on the internet. There continue to be gratuitously nasty voices out there on the digital universe. The trolls even got into the family memorial site for Rebecca with their vicious vituperation. What kind of folks do that, I wonder? I have never seen this kind of anonymous virtual mob up close before. It is chilling.

Those who knew and loved Rebecca are sounding off, too, but their voices are muted against the torrent.

The “critics” (if they can be dignified with that noun) wish to use Rebecca’s career as a device to hold back and discredit the inexorable advance of women in our society.

Though they are ignorant, they eventually may see that they will need to find another vehicle to carry out this diabolical campaign. Rebecca was outstanding beyond words, however measured – by test scores, fitness reports, her peak physical fitness and strength, her courage and tenacity – and as a person, a daughter, a sister, a niece, a subordinate, a superior officer, and – to a remarkably large cadre – a best friend.

She earned her rank, her wings, her large pile of medals, the invitation extended to an elite handful from each military branch to her duty at the White House, and the friendship and loyalty of almost everyone with whom she came into contact.

I know I am bragging – sorry.

We like the picture of Rebecca assisting Ralph Lauren at the Medal of Freedom ceremony in January. (See the image at the top of this page.) You can see how she enjoyed helping people. She reported that she literally had to hold Mr. Lauren up because this octogenarian refused to use a walker. The day after this presentation, Mr. Lauren sent her a hand-written note of thanks and a large bouquet of flowers.

As her parents said in their statement, Rebecca was “a bright star,” extinguished too soon, but never to be forgotten by those many whose lives she touched.

Her final accomplishment

We learned weeks after her passing that Rebecca was admitted to medical school at Mt. Sinai, her last accomplishment, and another lost opportunity. She would have been a compassionate, caring, and brilliant physician.

Two glimmers

Sometimes, but not always, silver linings can be detected in the darkest storm clouds. Sometimes, the consequences of a sad or troubling event actually turn out in some serendipitous way to be positive. There's not much chance of that here in the case of the death of our niece Rebecca. The event itself and all of the surrounding circumstances are just awful – too violent, too horrible, too costly, too soon, too abrupt, too final, and, so unnecessarily, too politicized.

Two tiny points of light can be perceived in an otherwise dark, dismal, and forbidding environment.

One is that those in our little family who remain have been brought nearer to each other and have received a dramatic and vivid reminder of the value of the close and supportive bonds that we share. We number less than thirty, even with cousins, and have all coalesced into one co-supportive blob of mourning and mutual encouragement.

The other slight glow for the Pennsylvania branch of our family, which is less than half of our tiny clan, is that we have received a massive outpouring from near and far of friendship, love, prayers, supportive statements, letters, cards, emails, texts and many, many hugs. We have been told we are being blessed and prayed for in numerous churches, mosques, temples, and synagogues. The sharing of our pain has been evident to me just in the way some people meet my eyes.

The affirming aspects of this effusive flow of good will cannot be denied. Quite frankly, these expressions of support have really been critical to helping us get through these months. Thank you.

The something large missing in every season

We all agree, it seems, that there is not much one can say or do under these dire circumstances. Just knowing our friends, and others who care and who we may not even know are out there is enough, as we send Rebecca off with final salute of “Blue Skies and Tailwinds.”

Somehow people get through such trauma and heal to a point, as my brother and his family will, even though when the crushing blow comes, it seems like the end of everything.

We all carry on. We each have our own burdens to carry, our own memories to cherish, and our own joys to celebrate.

A look outside the window today confirms that our little blue planet still spins. Fall is blanketing our sidewalks with leaves and windfall, soon to make way for winter, when the plunge in the mercury will be offset by the warmth of holiday gatherings. Before we know it, spring will stretch out before us again, with its rejuvenating energy and its symbolism of constancy.

Nonetheless, there will always be something large missing in our family, a gaping hole that cannot be filled.

– Jeff Lobach, uncle to Rebecca Marie Lobach