Thank you Vets!

Today, I recognize all the Veteran's out there. Past and present, living and dead. Thank you! The courage and selflessness are truly admirable. So again, THANK YOU.

I have one Veteran near and dear to my heart, my younger brother Jason.

Jason enlisted in the Army in August 2001 at the tender age of 17 under the delayed entry program. I had mixed feelings when he enlisted. I was proud, scared, nervous and excited for the journey he promised to take. We didn't come from a huge military family. He had never mentioned before that he was even thinking of doing this. As far as I knew, he wanted to go to college. In fact, I tried talking him out of doing this. Pleaded with him. Our family had always just been there. No one ever moved away. We all made it to every holiday, birthday party or family function.

Then came that horrible, horrible day we all know as 9/11. I was glued to the television just like the rest of the country, uncertain how this would affect my brother.

July 2002, the day after he turned 18, he was on his way to Boot Camp. Alone, to embark on this new journey not knowing a single soul. We didn't hear much from him while at Boot Camp, he sent a few letters but that was pretty much all that was allowed. I thought it sounded awful, he seemed to be proud and dare I say enjoying it.

He ended up going into the 101st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell, KY. I remember him calling me and telling me the history behind this group. He was proud to join them. I was proud of him.

Thanksgiving and Christmas were different. Jason was missing. It was weird, it felt hollow.

Then he got his orders. He was being sent to war. 6 months after my baby brother joined the military, he was going to war. Something I never thought I would ever have to say or think about in my lifetime. He asked if I could drive down and bring home some of his personal belongings since he didn't know when he would be back. I would also be able to watch his Air Assault Graduation. So, early February 2003, I made the drive down to do just that. The Air Assault Graduation wasn't quite what I had pictured. They were supposed to be jumping out of helicopters, but all of the helicopters were in transit to the Middle East. Everyday, supplies by the truckload were on their way out of our country, far away.

I spent that long weekend, driving around the military base, spending time with my brother. I asked him why the dirt was red in KY, he laughed and said he wondered the same thing. I remember there was an ice storm that was supposed to come. The whole city shut down, because of  the possibility of a storm? Being from MN, never having anything shut down, ever, we laughed. He stayed in the hotel room with me. We talked, we laughed, we didn't talk about what was to come. A couple of nights, he woke up screaming. Nightmares. This broke my heart. Why did this have to happen? Why. He just put on the brave face for me, never letting on any insecurities he may or may not have had. I remember us going to get breakfast and he was in uniform. The waitress comped his meal and told him God Bless.

I remember him showing me his chemical warfare gear. I had no clue what that even meant. He explained and put on the mask. Holy crap. This happens? This is happening.

I asked him what if I just took him home? Now. Tell them you changed your mind. Please. Please. Please. He explained he would then face charges and be sent to prison so that was out of the question. I just had to pray to God, that my brother would make it home alive.

Two weeks later he was gone. No way to tell where exactly. No phone number to call him at. Just hope. Hope that he was ok. Hope that he would be ok tomorrow, next week, next year.

I watched CNN all the time. The war was consuming my life, my families life. I would talk to my Mom many times a day, asking if she had heard from him. No word. My Grandma would call me at work with updates. We watched for any sign of my brother. We figured out most of the troops were in Kuwait. Thousands. March 2003, came the attack at Camp Pennsylvania in Kuwait. At first, the news outlets were saying they were being attacked, the sirens were going off - the chemical warfare sirens. My mind ran wild. I was sick to my stomach. The feeling is helpless. How do you go to sleep at night, knowing that your brother is being attacked? Bombed. Shot at. Turns out that attack was by a U.S. solider. Throwing grenades at his own troops.

Then came Shock and Awe. It was like living a nightmare. Soldiers were dying. My Brother was right there in the middle of it.

He called home when he could. When he found cell phones in the bombed buildings he was searching. We knew he was in Iraq. He would write letters. Telling us how sad it is to see people walking miles with just their clothes on their back. All they had. He felt sorry for the people. To have to call that place home.

At some point the tone of the letters changed. The kids who used to run after them, hugging them, taking candy were now shooting at them. They would wave flags at them, then drop them and start shooting. He had a can shot out of his hand. He had to watch for road side bombs.

Months went by, we got word that he would be able to come home from Iraq before Christmas. Then have to go back to that war torn country. I was so happy to see him. To have him home, alive if even for a few days. He didn't talk much about bodies, or bullets. He seemed the same but different. I couldn't quite pin point it. Something was off. He wasn't the same. Then again, how could you ever come back the same person after seeing that. How do you return to "normal" life.

You don't. That "normal" isn't the same. You see things much differently.

While he was home with us on leave, Saddam Hussein was captured - it was December 13, 2003. We celebrated, we hoped this would end this war. We hoped he would be home soon. He didn't think it would quite work that way. He still had to report back - to Iraq. Where there was very much still a war going on. His friends, his other family.  We had to say good bye again. He was eager to get back to his brothers. He felt bad even coming home at all.

He came out of Iraq once again, alive. Which is more than thousands of other Soldier's - who did not have the same fate. I watched and wept for those who did not come home. For the Mother's, Father's, Wives, Husbands, Brother's, Sister's, Children and Grandparent's who would never see their Solider again.

Many years later, my Brother home safe, out of active duty, I still weep. I weep for the dead, also for those quite alive - who are forever changed. I weep for the families who send-off, for families who welcome home. I weep for those affected by PTSD and hope for healing.

Freedom is never free. ~Author Unknown