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