Chris And Soleil

Branch: Marines, NYC PD

Location(s): Iraq, Kuwait, Germany, and Africa

Time Served: 10 years

“Living the rest of my life hating it is disrespectful to the friends I had who lost theirs.”

Talking about the past is challenging for many people who are or were in the service. While the reasons vary, a few recurring themes emerge: not wanting to be looked down upon, pitied, or judged due to the “disability” label; feeling unworthy of help because others may have it worse; or fearing that expressing their feelings makes them weak. For these reasons, many veterans suppress their past, burying it deeper and deeper. They often feel they must carry the burden alone, believing it’s no one else’s responsibility. The truth is that all human beings have psychological and emotional needs as real as physical ones. Regardless of how tough someone may be, no single person can bear the weight of the world alone. Speaking out isn’t a sign of weakness; in fact, it’s often easier to push people away and hide one’s vulnerabilities.

Chris’s story remains mostly vague to protect his safety. After the Marines, he took a job with a federal agency that required him to blend in rather than stand out. In both the Marines and law enforcement, Chris worked undercover in various high-risk situations, protecting those who needed it and neutralizing threats. Though many details are confidential, there are some events that help convey the gravity of his experience.

In 2006, just before boarding a plane to Kuwait, Chris learned his wife—married to him for only a few months—was pregnant. Excited yet apprehensive, he carried on with his deployment, experiencing the pregnancy through snail-mailed sonograms. He bonded with another Marine who was also expecting his first child. Originally, Chris was scheduled to return in time for his son’s birth, but leaked information from an Iraqi police officer revealed the base’s flight schedules to the enemy. With helicopters frequently under fire, Chris was grounded, missing his son’s birth. Only five days later, while delivering supplies to a humanitarian facility, a hidden bomb detonated. Chris, who was outside the vehicle guiding it, survived, but his friend—the driver—did not, never getting the chance to meet his baby girl. Chris sustained serious physical injuries from the blast but didn't fully realize the psychological impact until much later.

Over time, working as a police officer infiltrating NYC gangs and living on edge worsened his paranoia. PTSD and TBI symptoms became evident, but Chris believed his struggles were minor compared to others and hesitated to seek therapy. Before passing away, his grandmother encouraged him to get help, reminding him that his reclusive behavior wasn’t normal. He kept his promise and began attending therapy, where he slowly unraveled the effects of his trauma and started his healing journey.

“You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do to better yourself, because if you spend the rest of your life hating it, it’s disrespectful to the others who lost theirs. My friend didn’t make it home—I did. How would I honor him if I didn’t try to be better?”

Chris was paired with Soleil, a 1.5-year-old Belgian Malinois, on Friday, May 20, 2022, at the Fortified K-9 Training facility. Soleil (SO-lay), meaning “Sun” in French, is a fitting companion for someone seeking to move away from darkness. She’s sweet as pie but fiercely protective, always “watching Chris’s six,” allowing him to feel safer and freer than he has in years.