HUFFINGTON
09.22.13
INVISIBLE CASUALTIES
ly, Joshua picked up the phone.
In that final connection, all the
love, all of life’s hopes and failures
and regrets, the anger and despair,
the secrecy and deception, all
telescoped into those few precious
minutes. And left, in the desperation of that moment, unspoken.
“I said, ‘Josh, what’s going
on?’” Don said. “I could hear him
crying. He always put on a strong
face for me. But he was crying and
he said, ‘Dad, I’m so sorry, I love
you. I’m so sorry!’”
“I knew I had to keep him on
the phone. I said, ‘Joshua, where
are you?’”
“I can’t tell you.”
“I said, ‘Do you have a gun with
you?’”
“Yes, I do.”
“Could you just unload it,
please?”
“I can’t do that.”
“I was clutching at straws trying to keep him on the phone.
‘Please tell me where you are,
please give me an address.’” Silence. Then in a choked voice,
Joshua said the address.
“Then suddenly his voice got
real strong. He said, ‘Dad, I love
you. I have to go,’ and he hung up.”
Quickly, Don dialed 911 and relayed the address, sending cops
speeding toward the townhouse.
Don thought, maybe there’s hope.
He called Emily. “Call everyone you know and get them over
there,” he ordered.
Don, 54, is a strong person.
Warm, friendly, outgoing. In the
30 months or so since Joshua
died, he has endured unimaginable suffering. Battered by shame,
Navy Petty
Officer
Joshua
Lipstein,
shortly after
his first
deployment,
preparing to
report to duty
on base.