An Iraq war goodbye

The ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have claimed thousands of lives and left countless people –- spouses, parents, children, siblings, and comrades –- on all sides without the chance to say farewell in person.

Some survivors were fortunate to have recent letters, e-mails, or phone conversations where they could exchange "I love you" sentiments. I'm sure all will search for ways to come to terms with these losses, with the emotional holes left in their lives and hearts.

In her riveting book, "The Long Road Home," ABC News correspondent Martha Raddatz recounts an Army platoon's ambush by insurgents in Iraq in 2004 and the valiant effort to rescue the pinned-down group. In one poignant scene toward the end of the book, she shows us Lieutenant Colonel Gary Volesky, a highly respected U.S. Army commander who had just taken over responsibility for Sadr City in what was supposed to be a peacekeeping mission. It turned out to be anything but peaceful, as the 24-hour urban firefight with insurgents left eight soldiers dead and more than 60 wounded, along with hundreds of casualties among the Iraqis.

Four of the deceased U.S. soldiers -- Robert Arsiaga, Eddie Chen, Stephen Hiller, and Forest Jostes -- lay in a refrigerated storage truck at Camp War Eagle on April 5, and Volesky felt compelled to see their bodies, "to spend time with his fallen soldiers," she writes. "Let's say goodbye to our boys," Volesky told Staff Sergeant Major Don Garner, whose job was to watch over the enlisted soldiers at the camp. The two men embraced, then stepped inside the truck to find four black body bags lying side by side. Each of the soldiers had died almost instantly.

As Raddatz tells it: "Garner leaned over the first bag, the one farthest to the left, and slowly pulled down the zipper. It was Arsiaga. He had died of a gunshot wound to the head. Volesky, who'd never lost a soldier in combat, knelt down and closed his eyes, touching Arsiaga's shoulder briefly.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered."

Volesky then unzipped the bag holding Sergeant Eddie Chen, a gunner in his 30s. "Volesky had known Chen better than the other dead men," Raddatz notes. "He ran his hand along Chen's arm, apologized to him, thanked him.

'Goodbye,' he said softly."

He repeated the ritual with the last two bags. "All four men were still in their bloody uniforms, though portions had been cut or ripped away during their last moments of life as fellow soldiers had fought to save them. After a few minutes Garner zipped the bags closed. Volesky and Garner both stood, humbled and overwhelmed. Volesky wondered if there was anything he could have done to mitigate the risk his soldiers had faced, and would continue to face. He took one last look. Then the two men turned and walked back to the TOC [Tactical Operations Center] in silence."

This tender, heart-wrenching scene takes place after many pages of chaos and terror in Sadr City, as well as scenes back home, as family members receive knocks on their doors from uniformed individuals who have come to deliver dreaded news about their husbands, sons, and fathers.

Raddatz's book is not an easy read because of the material, but it is gripping and important. And her account in the refrigerated truck is a powerful reminder of the sacrifices being made and the very human desire to say goodbye.