New post coming soon! It's been way too long!!!

Mike Redding is a journalist that covered Carlos' story over the last month or so. Check out his latest post below. I have to say he did a wonderful job bringing Carlos' story to the public.

http://stopandsmellthepeople.com/2009/08/06/one-soldier’s-death…/

Closure?

I guess sometimes in life you have to celebrate your birthday in a funeral home...

These last few days have been surreal to say the least. Attending the wake and burial of your best friend on your birthday can do some strange things to your head. It can be a very Yin/Yang, circle of life type thing but I'd rather I didn't have to experience it.

I woke up bright and early Monday morning, packed the car with our bags, and started the trip down to Arlington, VA. Again, as I was driving south, I found it rather easy to avoid thinking about why we were making the trip. Feeding Leah, making pit stops at the rest areas, and focusing on the directions kept me in somewhat of a "zone." Needless to say, the reality quickly hit me as we arrived at the hotel and I saw all of the military brass milling around, checking in, and saying hello to one another...I was here to witness my best friend's burial.

A wake was set up for Monday night and a formal burial at Arlington National Cemetery would take place the next morning. I had been telling people for weeks that I was actually looking forward to these events. I spoke of the closure they may bring and the beauty and pride these events can typically evoke. When I arrived at the hotel, however, I was quickly overwhelmed by the enormity of having to say goodbye to Carlos. I had to get out of that lobby. I told Bridget that I wanted to get upstairs immediately to start to prep for the wake that would take place in the next few hours. I'm sorry if I was a little snippy babe.

When we arrived at the funeral home and entered the room, I was somewhat disappointed that there was a closed casket. I was looking forward to seeing him one last time, however, after some thought, I realized that the closed casket was the appropriate choice. I sat down, looked around the room at all of the people in attendance, and felt proud that Carlos had such an audience. Friends, family, coworkers, military brothers and sisters, etc. It was really great catching up with old friends but not under these circumstances. Then my eyes made their way to the front of the room. That sleek coffin covered in our majestic American flag and the Honor Guard standing at his side...I was immediately overcome with grief and sadness. My best friend was in that box.

The next day didn't prove to be any easier. We woke up around 5:00 a.m. to feed Leah, got all of our stuff together, and drove over to the cemetery. I had been to Arlington National Cemetery a few times before. It's a beautiful place. This time, however, it seemed even more beautiful and I drove through those gates feeling somewhat proud that my best friend's body would be laid to rest in such majesty. We all gathered in a family room beneath the Administration building and when the time came, drove to the gravesite. We parked the car, put Leah in her stroller, and walked up a small hill to a clearing where a horse and carriage awaited Carlos. A band stood on the side and played beautifully as a group Honor Guardsmen carried Carlos' casket from the hearse to horse drawn carriage. We then proceded to follow the procession down to the actual gravesite.

Cue emotion.

When we reached the gravesite, Carlos' immediate family sat beside him while the rest of us stood nearby. A priest said a few words and then led the group in a closing prayer. The honor guard approached Carlos' casket and conducted the flag folding ceremony. Their precision is simply incredible. After the flag was folded, it was presented to Rebecca. 3 flags were then presented to each of Carlos' little girls. No little girl or boy should have to go through this. The final flag was presented to Carlos' mother, a woman who gave her heart and soul to support Carlos, but now finds herself broken and alone. If it hadn't hit already, this was where you truly realized that war is hell. When you read the paper about the soldiers who have lost their lives in war, it's easy to forget about the humanity is involved, everything eles outside of their life as a soldier. These men and women have families and friends that love them dearly and when war takes them from us, it is the gravest of tragedies. More on this at another time.

The ceremony continued with the 21 gun salute. Again, the precision with which this is executed is amazing. 7 guns firing at once, however, they sound as if they were only one. The pulse of each shot is jarring. Then, to mark the finality of the ceremony, "Taps" was played. As soon as I heard that bugle...well I don't know. I don't really know how to describe it. Pain. Anger. Sadness. Pride. I really don't know what else to say. The military took my best friend away from me, but to their credit, they gave him one hell of a send off.

I will miss you and love you forever brother.

Friendship...

Saw this on 60 Minutes last night and thought Andy Rooney did a brief, but beautiful piece on friendship.

Miss you brother...see you in a week.


Watch CBS Videos Online

Surprise!!!

Wow, what a weekend!

So as you may or may not know, my birthday is next Monday...my 30th birthday. I've been thinking about this day for quite a while now and wondering how I'd like to celebrate. Big party? Go away on vacation? Something small and intimate? I couldn't decide! With Carlos' passing, however, I've just been feeling rather blah and decided that, more than anything, I would rather this day just pass and be done with. I'd probably go out to dinner with Bridget and our family and just be done with it and I'd be happy with that. Well, that all went out the window when I walked into The Beach House in LB on Saturday night and heard a collective cheer of "Surpriiiiiiiiiise!"

Let me take you back for a minute. I gave you the ending first in a pseudo-Tarantino style but let me give you some history. The last surprise party I had was for my 21st birthday. For some reason, I always enjoy telling Bridget how much I hated that party. Don't worry she didn't throw it for me. Truth is, I absolutely loved it. No matter how awkward that initial moment is of looking at all of the people there to celebrate YOU, it quickly subsides and you feel utter flattery. So, with that said, I've been telling Bridget ad naseum that a surprise party was the last thing I would ever want for my 30th birthday. Mind you, as I would say this to her, there was always that little voice in the back of my head telling me that I would actually love a surprise party. As a psychologist, I've learned that that little voice in your head can hold many truths, provided that it's not telling you to commit violence of course.

So Saturday night we had plans to go out to dinner with Jess and Josh. I was looking forward to going out to eat but nervous about bringing Leah with us. We've brought her out to eat with us a few times already but when other people are involved it's a bit nerve wracking. We took off for the West End, I dropped Leah and Bridget off at the front door of the restaurant, and went to look for a parking spot. If you are familiar with the West End you know that parking there can become a true test of your patience. After about 10 minutes, I was heading westbound on Park Avenue and saw a spot open up on the eastbound side. All of a sudden I pulled a Dukes of Hazard move, drove into oncoming traffic, and spun my "General Lee" into the vacant spot. All was well. I was met at the front door by Jess, Bridget, and Leah and was instructed that we had to bring Leah through the back of the restaurant because it was too crowded and they didn't want her coming through the front. "Odd," I thought, but went along with it (13 years in Catholic School will do that to you). We walked in and as I came around the bend the flash bulbs started popping off. Gasp. Take a deep breath. Release. ENJOY!

The party and after-party was absolutely amazing! It was perfect. Exactly what that little voice told me I would want. Bridget, I love you so much. Thank you for being persistent and making me feel so special. I have to say it again...the night was perfect.

Late again...

I was just searching through some old photos and videos and I found this clip of Carlos arriving to my house (late of course) on my wedding day. Carlos' reaction to being met at the door by a video camera is just priceless to me.

On June 30, I received a voicemail that, for one reason or another, I still cannot believe to be true.

After a night of beach volleyball, I came home to find a voicemail on my cell phone from an old friend. I was immediately curious to see what his message was as we hadn’t spoken in quite some time and I was happy to see that he had called. As I listened to the message, the scene played out like that of a movie…my cell phone dropped out of my hand and I began to weep.

Sgt. Juan Carlos Baldeosingh was dead.

On a day where Americans and Iraqis alike were celebrating the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Iraq, I found myself grieving the loss of my best friend.

As fate would have it, Carlos was due to come home in a week for a 2 week leave. His mission on the night of the 29th, however, turned deadly when his Humvee hit an IED and ended his life and the three other soldiers in the vehicle. He leaves behind a wife and three amazing little girls.

My thoughts swirl as I try and think about what to write next. Perhaps I can explain the title of this blog. Carlos is someone who always truly “got” me. In friendships, however, this can sometimes be a mixed blessing as someone who “gets” you generally knows how to torture you as well. For some reason, I have a penchant for useless knowledge and, perhaps more importantly, for being able to have an answer on demand. Carlos always liked to put me to the test but was never able to stump me. One night, after having just fallen asleep, my phone rang. I picked up the phone only to find silence on the other end. “Hello?” I asked again. This time the response was a giggle that was desperately trying to be controlled. I knew who it was immediately, however, before I could say anything else, the giggle erupted into maniacal laughter followed by the question, “What was the name of the bunny rabbit on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?!” Then he hung up. I sat there wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer. I would not be stumped. Mind you, this was before the days of Wikipedia or any other significant database on the net. Then, through some sort of divine intervention I came up with the answer. At around 3 or 4a.m. I called Carlos at home and proclaimed, “Usagi Yojimbo!” He replied with a groggy, “Are you serious?” He couldn’t believe 1) I figured out the answer and 2) I was calling this early to tell him. We both laughed, hung up the phone, and went back to sleep. We talked about that stupid phone call almost every time we saw each other thereafter.

Carlos’ laugh was an all-natural antidepressant. If I had a recording of his laugh, I would play it for anyone that was having a bad day. I could almost guarantee that it would make you feel better. His laugh was one of a kind and, as I mentioned above, almost maniacal at times. Carlos’ laugh was contagious and he routinely made me feel like I was Jerry Seinfeld telling jokes on stage. He was the perfect audience. Carlos may be gone, but that laugh will resound in my head forever.

Let me take it back to the beginning…our friendship began one day on the way home from Holy Trinity High School. For one reason or another, I basically had my own private bus on the way to school, but rode the Hempstead bus home. The bus was packed in the afternoon and each day I tried to figure out how to approach the crew in the back and possibly be welcomed to the back of the bus. My attempts were futile at best. Instead, what typically happened was that I sat near the front of the bus (I say near because the actual front of the bus would be pathetic), plugged in my Walkman (later a Discman), and tried to do some homework. Just about as lame as you can get. One day, as the route was nearing its end, I noticed that the bus had all of a sudden become eerily quiet. The only sound was the music blaring from my headphones. Someone shouted, “Yo!” from the back of the bus. I didn’t dare respond. Again someone yelled, “AYO!” “Shit,” I thought. I had better not piss this guy off. I turned around and sheepishly replied, “Yeah?” When I turned around, my eyes were shocked to see that unmistakable smile followed by the shocked question, “Are you listening to Biggie?!” By the time we reached my stop, I had a permanent pass to the back of the bus, an invitation to a party that weekend, and had met one of the most dynamic personalities I will have ever come across in my life. I will never forget that day and I will never forget how he made this dorky white boy feel welcomed and accepted.

Okay, so the first party invitation was probably because I was the one who had a car. I realized this as I was driving that Friday night with half of Hempstead in my back seat…but I was okay with that! I was alright with being “the driver.” As the years passed, Carlos and I had many an adventure in that black 1995 Pontiac Sunfire. We would cruise around Long Island blasting whatever rap or reggae song we were feeling in the moment. For some reason two songs that got the most play were: Barrington Levy’s “Here I Come” to Bad Yard Club’s “In De Ghetto.” I’m not exactly sure why but these two were definitely playlist heavies. Music was something that was always important to us. We would have extended conversations about Biggie vs. Tupac. Carlos always favored Tupac hands down. We would hit up clubs and dance the night away…I can remember some very interesting nights at the “Tunnel” in NYC. We had plans to take over the NYC club world and put Peter Gatien out of business. Well that didn’t work out well for any of us did it? I can remember when I started leaning towards dance music; thinking that there was no way he would follow me to the House music genre. That was until I walked into his room one day and found an Armand Van Helden CD on top of his stereo. “The Funk Phenomena!” he came in from the kitchen yelling, and I knew I had a convert on my hands.

Another favorite topic of conversation was Garden City vs. Hempstead. We used to laugh endlessly as we compared the two towns. If you live in the area, then you know Meadow Street is a street that marks a very clear delineation between Hempstead and Garden City. On one side there are trees and mansions, on the other, complete urbanization. Carlos’ favorite thing to point out was that at least the Town of Hempstead was kind enough to put a bench on the corner of Meadow and Clinton for the residents of Hempstead to admire Garden City. I always followed with, “Yeah but it’s not even a nice bench!” It wasn’t. Carlos enjoyed playing basketball at the park near my house after school and keeping the teenage, ever so conservative park monitor on edge (I believe he called the police once). For me, there was nothing like dropping Carlos off after a long night and driving around the block to a bunch of guys waving and shouting various greetings. In a place that could be rather unnerving at times, I found security. I owe that to Carlos.

After learning of his passing, my mother told me an interesting story about Carlos. She said, “You know I knew Carlos WAY before you!” I had remembered that my mother was actually a guidance counselor at Carlos’ elementary school but knew little else. My mom continued to tell me that one day she was chatting with the principal, a stern, old-school nun, and noticed a young boy sitting outside of her office. My mom asked who he was and the principal replied, “Ahh, that is Carlos. He is such a sweet boy…but I am very worried about his temper!” I got such a laugh when I heard that story. It described him perfectly. I always knew him as such a genuine person. And as far as the temper goes, well let’s just say I was always happy he was on my side.

This has been a difficult two weeks to say the least. I find myself existing in some sort of a haze. It is easy to get caught up in the procedure of grieving without having to actually think about the loss. I’ve buried myself in things like Googling for articles, posting on Facebook, and attending his memorial in North Carolina, however, each time I actually stop and think about the person I’ve lost in my life, I weep. Carlos’ upcoming burial at Arlington is going to be quite a challenge. I am angered that this war has taken him from me, however, I am proud to see him receive such a dignified and revered sendoff. Carlos was one of the best… no, he was THE best. He served our country and gave his life. He served me as a friend and gave me life. I will love you and miss you forever brother.

Love, Chris