| One Sunday morning as the war was winding down, I turned on the Today Show. Without even hearing the news yet -- I knew that something had gone wrong. When I heard that David Bloom was dead, I -- like everyone -- figured he had been killed in combat. Apparently, David had called from his embed position with the Third Infantry Division, complaining of cramps in his leg. He took an aspirin and went to sleep. While packing up his gear a few days later, he collapsed, never to awake again. One of his greatest accomplishments, the creation of what became known as the Bloom-Mobile, is likely what killed him. Living in unspeakably cramped quarters evidently was the death of him. I had the occasion to spend the week following his death in the newsroom at NBC Nightly News. It was an intense week to spend with this family of his colleagues. On the day of his funeral, the wives of the Third ID came to the newsroom. Brokaw walked in to greet them. I couldn't really hear precisely what it was that Tom said -- it was softly spoken and only they could hear him. It was a private moment. I suspect he said something along the lines of "your husbands were there to serve. David was there to make sure that we knew." The power of the moment was not drawn from the words, anyway. But, from the fateful union of the two -- journalist and soldier. They teared up, he teared up, and so did I. David Bloom's death, to me, is a microcosm of the war itself. Quick, fleeting. And surreal.
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