On my right wrist, I wear a black cuff aluminum bracelet. It's frequently mistaken for something involving a medical ID, but it is nothing near that, although it is just as meaningful. There are different types of bracelets signifying different things. Silver or Red are normally missing in action and black is killed in action. There are thousands of people wearing these bracelets across the glove, some sharing the same name and others having a different name. Some of these memorial bands have more than one name on it. And though there are bands that share the same names, each person wears their bracelet for a different reason. Whether the person whose name is on that bracelet is of relation to the one wearing it, or if they're a friend, or even if they're just a stranger who wants to honor them, the reason why someone wears the bracelet is to remember, to never forget. Many active and former military people wear this bracelet as a remembrance of someone who they served with and who they may have been with when they were killed forming a bond that many will never understand. It’s a way to carry on their brother/sisters memory.
The name on my bracelet reads as this:
SGT. ADAM L. CANN FL USMC - MWDH
IRAQI FREEDOM 05 JAN 06 KIA
Sergeant Adam Cann was a Military Police (MP) officer in the United States Marine Corps. He was assigned to Security Batallion and was stationed at Camp Pendleton, which is a Marine Corps base in Southern California.
Both of my parents were Gunnery Sergeants in the Marine Corps and when we moved to San Diego, they were both stationed at Miramar. This was how I crossed paths with Sgt. Cann. My mom was an MP and I used to go to her work and to most of the unit events/parties with her, where the younger MP's became instant big brothers and playmates. Most of the time I would be the only kid and bore the brunt of the "watch this" and "let me show you this." I was suited up in "war gear," and even had my face painted camouflage. I was wrapped up in brown wrapping paper, placed in flexi cuffs, handcuffs, a straight jacket, amongst many other things that big brothers do. I would not change any of it, because I loved every minute spent with them all.
In the spring of my sophomore year at college, I asked my mom if I could get a memorial bracelet in honor of Sergeant Cann. The moment I received it in my mailbox, I was anxious. When the metal bracelet slid out of the small package and into my hand, I ran my fingers across the engraving and the reality of the situation truly sunk in. I placed the cold metal bracelet onto my right wrist, and it's never been taken off. Sergeant Cann has been with me through all of the ups and downs since I received my bracelet. He's traveled with my softball team on those long bus rides for our double headers. He's sat through late nights in the library when I studied for finals. He's been out kayaking and paddleboarding. He's celebrated with me when I succeeded and stuck by me when I failed.
This past May, my mom and I spent a week in Washington D.C. We visited the monuments and the museums, taking in the beauty of it all. Our reason for our visit, was not to only see all of the monuments and history, but to be there on May 25 — Memorial Day. On that morning, we watched the Rolling Thunder Run take over the streets. Almost every motorcycle had a huge American flag attached to the back, partnered with an K.I.A/P.O.W flag. Watching them ride by was amazing and a highlight of my trip. It was our trip to Arlington National Cemetery that was really the main reason for our visit that week. Not only to pay tribute to the hundreds of thousands of men and women who are buried there, but to visit Sgt. Cann as well.
Section 60 Site 8130 was our destination. With a map of the cemetery and flowers in hand, we walked down the paths in search for him. And when we found him, it was quite the emotional moment. I could remember back to my childhood, where the K9 Marines would tease me and made me their mascot during their softball games and even letting me play even though I was only 11 years old. I remember when my mom came home from Afghanistan and I got to go back to base with her to see my "old friends." I remember her telling me that Sgt. Cann was killed in Iraq and that he wouldn't be there anymore. At that time, I didn't really grasp what she meant. I remember not really knowing what all that meant, but somehow, thinking back on it now, I think a part of me knew just what she meant.
When I got older and was able to understand the reality of the situation, my mom told me how Sgt. Cann died. She told me about how he had threw himself onto a suicide bomber who had walked into an Iraqi Police recruitment center and detonated the device attached to his chest. His body took most of the blow away from two of his fellow Marines and his dog Bruno. In life and in death, Sgt. Cann taught me lessons that impacted my life in a very big way. He taught me what it really means to sacrifice, what it really means to care about something and others bigger than yourself.
Sometimes I'll just look at the bracelet on my wrist and remember the man who I looked up to when I was younger. I remember all of the jokes and the echoes of laughter and I'll smile on the memories. Other times, I look at the bracelet and the reality sinks in all over again. The reality that a brave young man with so much of a life to live....left all too soon. I look at my bracelet when I feel overwhelmed with school, softball and just life in general. And when I read his name, I feel more at ease...like I can tackle anything. Sgt. Cann may have left this world nine years ago, but I carry his memory with me wherever I go....on the little black bracelet that sits comfortably on my wrist, where it will stay forever.
So if you're out one day and you see someone wearing a memorial bracelet like mine, that person is keeping alive the memory of a fallen service member- the memory of someone who made the ultimate sacrifice in the service of our country.
"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."
- John 15:13
