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Pvt. Ryan Miller

(reprinted from ColumbusDispatch.com, September 5, 2006)

This time, Marine didn’t make it safely back home

His Humvee had struck a land mine and the war as a whole felt more dangerous on this second tour of Iraq, but Ryan Miller still told his family not to worry.

The 21-year-old Marine had squeezed in a call to his family's Northeast Side home last Tuesday, after 10 days in the field with K Company, 3rd Battalion, 2nd Marines.

The Marines had drawn small-arms and mortar fire and his Humvee had been damaged by the land mine, but Miller wasn't hurt. Combat-seasoned, he knew a close call when he saw one.

"He said, 'Boy, we're really lucky, Dad,' " Ed Miller recalled yesterday. "I said, 'Yeah, praise the Lord, son.' "

Ryan Miller said he was looking forward to a shower and meal because the Marines were headed out again soon.

"And that was the last we heard," his mother, Mary, said last night.

The pair of uniformed Marines came to the Miller home on Beaver Head Court unannounced Sunday evening.

They didn't have to say anything.

"I had to grab ahold of both of them and said, 'I gotta know if this is real,' " Ed Miller said.

Ryan Miller, a 2003 graduate of St. Francis DeSales High School, died in Iraq on Sunday, said Dennis Benson, a Marine family-support group organizer who had worked with the Millers for most of the year.

"He was a very good kid," he said.

A Defense Department news release said two Marines assigned to the Regimental Combat Team 5 died Sunday in enemy action in Iraq's Anbar province. The release did not name the Marines.

Miller's family said the young man's Humvee had struck a much more powerful improvised explosive device, but they don't know many other details about his death. They said he had been involved in Operation Rubicon, an effort to drive out insurgents in an area west of Habbaniyah that U.S. or coalition forces have rarely traversed.

The yellow ribbons remained tied to trees outside the family's home last night as a steady stream of friends and relatives arrived to offer their condolences.

It's been the family home since Ryan Miller was 6 years old, his mother said.

His younger sister, Tara, remembered the forts he built in the woods. His father remembered teaching his son to shoot a pellet gun in the backyard. Even then, Mr. Miller saw that his son — who hoped to become a Marine sniper — had a knack for marksmanship.

Miller joined the Marines after high school in late 2003, telling his parents that he thought he would come out of it a stronger, better person with lifelong friendships.

"There's nothing negative here, Dad," he told his father. "This is all good."

He first shipped to Iraq in February 2004 and returned that September. He was proud of his service and would give a slide show to anyone interested in his experiences.

Miller returned to the war in July and was two months into another seven-month stretch when he died. His parents could sense in their son that this tour was more volatile.

"He was in a totally different situation this time than he was last time," Ed Miller said.

Ryan Miller rarely could say what he was up to but assured his family that the Marines had prepared him well.

"I can handle anything they can throw at me," he said once, his father recalled. "I'll have a lot of good stories to tell you when I get back."

In his last call, he talked about being home for Christmas 2007 and his plans to pay down his Nissan Altima.

"His car was his pride and joy," his father said.

Ryan planned to leave the Marines after his four years were up and go to college and pursue law enforcement. His inspiration was his uncle, David Blubaugh, a Columbus police officer.

He talked of maybe playing with his father in an adult softball league.

"He was just happy to be thinking ahead," Ed Miller said.

His son, he said, had become confident, mature, focused. And every time they spoke to him, the Millers made sure to tell him how proud they were of all that he had done and would do.

Ryan Miller's body should be home within a week.

"It's tough, boy, I'm telling you, it's tough," Mr. Miller said. "You just feel like somebody tore half your heart out.