War has always interested me. As a kid, it was for the obvious reasons — I wanted to run around with a toy gun and pretend to be involved in a dangerous world of good versus evil. But of course back then I had no understanding of the difference between fact and fiction. That’s because in the action/adventure cartoons I watched, like G.I. Joe, nobody ever died. Real danger always threatened characters like Duke and Snake Eyes, but that threat never materialized. As an adult, however, I obviously know better. Today, my interest in war centers around survival and aftermath.
That’s why Ashley Gilbertson’s photo project, Bedrooms of the Fallen, fascinates me. In the above video, Gilbertson explains the project while narrating against the backdrop of his bedroom photographs (video via BagNews). He singles out the stories of Jordan C. Haerter (Sag Harbor, NY) and Nicholas G. Xiarhos (Yarmouth Port, MA) for this video. The two young men are linked by an interesting story. Haerter gave his life protecting against a suicide attack targeting the barracks where Xiarhos was sleeping. A year later, Xiarhos was killed. Here’s Gilberton’s overview of the project:
These bedrooms once belonged to men and women who died fighting in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. These fallen men and women were blown up by IEDs, RPGs, hand grenades and suicide bombers. They were shot down in ambushes and by snipers. They died in helicopters, in humvees, and in tanks. It all took place thousands of miles away from home, and the country they fought to defend.
The purpose of this project is to honor these fallen – not simply as soldiers, marines, airmen and seamen, but as sons, daughters, sisters and brothers – and to remind us that before they fought, they lived, and they slept, just like us, at home. (via Bedrooms of the Fallen website)
Gilbertson’s photos are heartbreaking. He does an impeccable job of capturing these bedrooms and all their personal nuances. Some of the rooms have been left completely untouched. Others have been only slightly changed, a photo or knick-knack added here or there. Often you hear the word “shrine” used to describe the bedrooms kept intact by parents who have lost a child. But these rooms don’t look that way at all. It looks as though, at any minute, you’re going to see a 19-year-old kid walk in and sit down at the computer, or flop down on the bed. “We as adults have entire homes or apartments that we can fill with things that we love,” Gilbertson says, “but our children have one room, they have their bedroom.”
