I can't even describe how I feel with words.

All I want to do is comfort my friend, but there is no comfort at all for this. I want hold my love in my arms and thank God he's still here. I want to breathe in his scent and hear his voice. I want to feel his strong arms around me and to tell him how proud I am of him for doing the job that lets the rest of us sit around and complain about insignificant shit in safety. I want to tell him how blessed I feel to have his love and devotion.

I want to sleep for a year. I just want to wake up and find him there next to me. God, how did my grandmothers do this? It was tens of thousands of times worse back then. There was no Internet, no cell phones. There were no mid-tour breaks. There were no 12-15 month tours. They came home when they were dead or the job was done.

B.B. and Big Jon, thank you. I have all I have because you fought for it.

Because whatever the selfish whiners may say about this country, no matter what they think of my husband's mission (to keep his men and the civilians of Iraq safe by hovering above, ready to blow away anyone that would do either group harm), they sit in the safety of their homes because no one would dare invade our land, bring a fight to our streets thanks to the very existence of our military. Which is comprised entirely of volunteers. Men and women who, for whatever reason, have chosen to give up many of their personal comforts and freedoms so we may have ours. Do people realize that even in peacetime that it's a huge pain in the ass to do that job? As if there were no deployments just because we're not "officially at war"? As if no one ever receives that devastating phone call when we're not at war?
Anyone who doesn't get that, fuck you. With something sharp.

Christian H.: Never been prouder to call anyone a friend.

"We Sleep Safe In Our Beds because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those that would do us harm."
~ George Orwell

Can't sleep

I promised Leslie I was gonna take those Tylenol PMs and go to bed. I didn't.

Holy crap, why can't I just get up from here and move without feeling like my heart is going to explode?

I've done everything I can. I called friends from Rucker so they wouldn't find out by seeing his name on some casualty list.

The Naked Ninja told me: "It's always the guy that everybody likes".
Can everyone please start hating my husband? Now?

I can't believe we were worried it was Thomas, and I was so relieved to see that he had logged on to Myspace on Sunday. I was correct to assume that it meant he was still breathing. Then I got that fucking call. Like a punch to the diaphram. It's always like that. Sympathy is expected, but why the hell am I empathysing? I've known my share of loss, sure, but I'm not a widow. This is so fucked up. It's not going to bring Chris back, or help Christina out in any way. Yet I can't sleep, and every distraction I immerse myself in is interrupted by tragic reality. Like my brain has to constantly remind me: "Hey! Your friend is dead and your other friend, his wife, probably feels like dying right now!"
Thanks, brain. Fuck you.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Christina's face. Only it's not her face, because Christina is one the happiest people I've ever met. That face, that grief, it can't belong to her. Please, God, it just can't!
I can't sleep, because every time I close my eyes, I see Christina's face, then I see myself in her shoes, and my stomach twists and my eyes snap open. I panic, I want to jump out of my skin.
I think of Chris, and I want to scream. It's unfair. It's impossible! How can someone full of enough life for 10 people be wiped out so suddenly?

It's such an odd feeling to be simultaneously relieved (it wasn't Michael) and devastated. Anybody, please (almost) anybody but Chris.
And what can I do? Russia is closer to Christina than I am.
I alternately want to be alone in the house, then want to get out of the house. I want to be around a friend, then want to get away from them.

The anxiety had finally gone away. I was settling down and getting used to Michael being gone. Now I'm absolutely terrified. It's only a month in. Now the anxiety is back tenfold, compounded with grief. Impossible grief. Maybe that sounds strange coming from someone who lost her mother at age 7, and lost her nephew on his first birthday, but it's just so...impossible. How will she keep going? I'm afraid for her, I'm afraid for Michael, I'm afraid for myself. I haven't been so afraid in a very, very long time.
I know it was just an accident, and one that probably wouldn't have happened in an Apache, but I can't help it, I'm just flipping the fuck out. Doesn't matter right now that Chicago is more dangerous than Iraq. That doesn't help what I'm feeling. What everyone that knew him is feeling...

The best of friends, the best of people, the best of what love is supposed to be, torn apart. Michael's friends. My friends. I have the honor of calling them that.

You were the best of what people can be, Christian. I wish I could give you back to her, to all of us. I wish this was all just a mistake. Bureaucratic slip.

This can't be real. It just can't be.


I hate that this has led to my own selfish fear for Michael. I can't see her without seeing what could be myself.

The Lord bless you and keep you, Christian.

We all love you.