[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 147 (2001), Part 2]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 2903-2904]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]



           IN MEMORY OF U.S. SOLDIERS KILLED IN SAUDI ARABIA

                                 ______
                                 

                          HON. JOHN P. MURTHA

                            of pennsylvania

                    in the house of representatives

                         Tuesday, March 6, 2000

  Mr. MURTHA. Mr. Speaker, on Sunday, February 25, 2001, a decade after 
the Iraqi Scud missile attack on the U.S. barracks in Dhahran, Saudi 
Arabia, a young woman who lost her husband and the father of her two 
children spoke eloquently about the impact of that awful event. While 
the magnitude of such a tragedy can never be fully overcome, her story 
is also one of renewal and healing and joy. It is a poignant and 
fitting tribute to the men and women who perished that day. I want to 
share her remarks with my Colleagues:

       If ten years ago I could have looked ahead to today, and 
     could have seen myself standing here telling all of you that 
     I'm happy, healed, and whole again, it would have made my 
     time of grief so much easier. Because then I would have known 
     that my heart would someday heal and life would be worth 
     living again. That's not how I felt then. My life was 
     shattered into a million pieces and I couldn't see how they 
     could ever be put back together again.
       John and I worked at the Baptist Homes, a nursing facility 
     in Castle Shannon. My mother introduced us and we became 
     instant friends. John was so easy to like. He was friendly 
     and outgoing . . . always with a twinkle in his eye. A couple 
     months into our friendship, John asked me to be his date at a 
     party he was throwing. Of course I said that I would go. He 
     asked me to dance to a slow song that came on the stereo, and 
     that dance was the beginning of a great love in my life.
       John and I married the following summer. We had two 
     beautiful children, Matthew and Melissa. John loved 
     fatherhood and it suited him . . . really he was a kid in an 
     adult body so it sort of came natural to him. We bought a 
     house and spent Melissa's first Christmas in it . . . that's 
     when Saddam Hussein intruded on our lives. Before I knew what 
     was happening, John was on his way to the Persian Gulf and I 
     knew my life would never be the same.
       The day of February 25th started out with a letter from 
     John. He said all the things that he said in every letter I 
     ever got from him, how much he loved us, how much he missed 
     us. Then he told me about the SCUD alerts. He talked about 
     the gas masks and the chaos and I worried. That evening I was 
     out with my sister and I returned home to find family members 
     waiting for me. My brother was standing in my living room and 
     the television was on. On it I saw soldiers running and heard 
     yelling and chaos and sirens blasting . . . but that didn't 
     grab my attention as much as the look on my brother's face. 
     He asked me where John was in Saudi. I told him I didn't 
     know. He said that there was a SCUD attack in Dhahran and the 
     missile hit a warehouse and they believed the 14th was being 
     housed there. As I was taking in what he was telling me, the 
     room started to spin and a feeling of dread came flooding 
     over me. I asked, `Were there casualties?' he said there were 
     some. But the highest number were injuries. I knew that John 
     was in that warehouse. My family tried to reassure me that 
     chances were that he was injured, but in my spirit, I knew 
     that he was gone. I had already felt the separation. I waited 
     all night for the officer to come. And at 6 am my doorbell 
     rang. I opened the door and there was Lt. Col. Richard White. 
     He had so much pain in his eyes. I saw how difficult it was 
     for him to tell me that my husband, Spc. John Boliver, had 
     been killed in action due to injuries sustained in an Iraqi 
     SCUD missile attack.
       A few weeks after John's funeral my friend invited me for 
     dinner. She wanted to spend a little time with me and to get 
     me out. Her husband, who is also my friend, had done a large 
     portion of John's funeral service, and he asked me so 
     sincerely how I was doing. I told him that I was okay, but 
     that the nights were so difficult for me to get through. When 
     I would sleep, the nightmares were terrible, so I was trying 
     not to sleep at all. He told me something then that helped to 
     change my life. He said, ``Paula, when you go through the 
     worst times of grief, you need to find an anchor. Something 
     stable for you to hold onto so that grief won't sweep you 
     away. Something that can never change or be taken away from 
     you.''
       I went home that night and looked for my anchor. The only 
     thing I had that could never be taken away from me was that 
     God loved me. He loved me so much and He wanted to comfort me 
     and to heal my heart. He wanted to put the shattered pieces 
     of my life back together. Jer. 29:11 was one of many 
     promises: I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. 
     Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you 
     hope and a future. That was what I needed, and that was what 
     I began to build my life on.
       It was the second spring after John's death. I went outside 
     on my deck and the sun was shining and the trees were 
     budding, and the smells of spring were so heavy in the air. 
     All of a sudden I realized that I was enjoying the sun on my 
     face and the smells of spring. It was as if everything I saw 
     was in color, and I had been seeing life in black and white. 
     The feeling of contentment only lasted a brief time but I 
     realized that day I was getting better. That someday I could 
     enjoy life again.
       Then four years after I lost John, I found Phil, or maybe 
     he found me. However it was, we just seemed to fit together. 
     The kids fell in love with Phil right along with me, and he 
     fell in love with us too, and he married us. He made our 
     family complete again and I thank God every day for him. Then 
     four years into our marriage, God gave us Alison, our 
     nineteen month old daughter. Alison had a difficult 
     beginning. She was born with Down syndrome, but more 
     importantly, with two little holes in her heart that were 
     life-threatening. She was life-flighted to Children's 
     Hospital and I was afraid that I would never see her alive 
     again. I wrestled with God for three nights over her 
     diagnosis. I questioned His reasons for making her with

[[Page 2904]]

     such a disability. But more than anything, I wanted her to 
     live. I told God that if He spared her life, I would be the 
     best mother to her that I could be. I understand how precious 
     life was and that God makes no mistakes. Boy did He answer my 
     prayer. She was a miracle baby. She got better and stronger 
     and both of those little holes closed over and her heart is 
     healthy. And she's the love of my life. She brings me so much 
     joy every day. When she smiles, her whole face smiles. All 
     the love that I lost in that scud missile attack, God gave 
     back to me and multiplied it. How grateful I am to Him. I am 
     so thankful for God's faithfulness and love to me.
       This is just my story. We all have a story, wounds and 
     scars of our hearts that tell the stories of our lives. They 
     make us who we are. But if those scars and wounds make us 
     more compassionate toward others who are suffering, if they 
     make us more grateful for every day we live and for the ones 
     we love, and stronger for the difficulties that lie ahead on 
     this journey called ``life,'' then our soldiers' sacrifice is 
     all the more meaningful--to us and to all of those whose 
     lives we touch, because we have become better human beings.
       I want to thank my family, who loved John so much and 
     grieved with me, to my children who are my angels--they gave 
     me reason to get up every morning and gave me so much love.
       I want to thank my friends and my Church family who prayed 
     for me faithfully and encouraged me daily, and most of all to 
     my mom, who was the best friend I ever had and I'll always 
     miss her.
       I also want to thank the families of the 14th 
     Quartermaster. We have cried together and laughed together. 
     We have shared our deepest pain and our greatest joys. Your 
     strength gave me strength. Your courage gave me courage. The 
     circumstances of our meeting were so tragic and yet I am so 
     grateful to have known you.
       And to Janet Glasser, our family support coordinator. 
     Janet, you were the glue. Without you, we would never have 
     had the support system that we had. You were so far above 
     what your job required of you. You have been like a big 
     sister to me. I can't even begin to thank you for everything 
     you've done. I am so grateful to have you in my life.
       To my husband Phil, for always loving me and letting me be 
     who I am. For taking Matt and Melissa into your life and 
     making them your own. For our little Alison, our little angel 
     that we are so privileged to be parents to. For being my best 
     friend.
       And my utmost gratitude to John Boliver . . . for the love 
     he brought into my life, for the two children he made with 
     me, for all the laughing we did, and all the silly arguments. 
     . . . I loved it all and I wouldn't change a thing. He 
     brought me so much joy and taught me so much about courage. I 
     will always hold him in my heart until we meet again in 
     glory.
       Thank you--Paula Wukovich.

       

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