Peace & Honor

The physical scars from the battlefield had healed. The emotional scars would take longer. How a special horse helped this soldier feel whole again

- CHRISTOPHER TAFFOYA

I was sitting outside my barracks at Fort Myer in Virginia, chatting with an Army buddy. He was talking, but I wasn't really listening. My thoughts had taken over, and suddenly I was back in Iraq. I could practically feel the ever-present sand and hear the gunfire and frequent explosions. My heart pounded.

God, am I ever going to be normal again? I was 20 years old. Serving in the Army was the only career I'd ever wanted. I thought the terrors that had plagued me since my return from combat would settle now that I'd been reassigned to the Old Guard, the Army's ceremonial unit in D.C. But if I couldn't control these intrusive thoughts, did I have any future in the military at all?

Then I heard it: clip-clop, clip-clop. The sound got a little louder. "Ah, there's the Caisson Platoon," my buddy said, right as a trio of regal military horses crossed the street.

The Caisson Platoon? I'd never heard of it. My gaze riveted to those horses. Clip-clop, clip-clop. My heartbeat slowed to the rhythm of their hooves.

The strangest feeling came over me. A mysterious peace and an even more mysterious certainty. That's what I'm supposed to do work with those horses.

Peace and certainty had eluded me since I'd been wounded in a grenade attack in May 2003. I was awarded the Purple Heart. I couldn't stop thinking about the little girl who'd died and the dozen other kids who'd been wounded beside me. While waiting for my Old Guard assignment to begin, I'd stayed with my dad. He was alarmed when he had to grab me by my shirt to keep me from jumping out of a moving car. A trip to the mall lasted three minutes. Too many people. I never returned. My nightmares woke the house. Weirdest were the day terrors—a sound, a smell would trigger me, and I was back in Iraq, under attack.