Hell

War is hell.

I find it strange that the people who say that the most often are the ones who know nothing of its horrors. Isn't that interesting?

I sat next to my husband while he quite literally bawled his eyes out. I'd never seen him cry like that. It took nearly eight years for it to come, but when it did... It was ugly. "I miss him."

War is hell.

There I sat, with one of my dearest friends, while she said goodbye to her husband. I sat there while they handed her a flag and said "On behalf of a grateful nation... His boots. His helmet... Never coming back.

War is hell.

We dropped him off and hugged and cuddled. Then it was time for us to let him go and say goodbye. She screamed as hard as her little four year old body could. "GET ME OUT OF HERE MOMMY!!!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!! I DON'T WANT MY DADDY TO GO! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

War is hell.

Five times I have said goodbye to the love of my life, sent him off to a horrible place, and had no idea if he would die there. Three times I have done it with our children hurting, being scared, and wishing it away just as much as I was.

Three times I have sat beside personal friends whose husbands died in that horrible place. I have been to more funerals than I care to remember. I've heard more 21 gun salutes than I've wished to have ever heard. I have heard their names, and the lingering silence of no response, haunting my mind.

War is hell.

There is nothing to compare to the grief of those two men showing up at your house to tell you the finality of goodbye. No amount of deployments, or sending him aways, or tears, or heartaches that I have endured, compares to the finality of death; to the finality of their goodbye.

War is hell.

And even I have no idea how much it really is...