Image Copyright John Kidwell
When does it end? When do I stop feeling guilty for having made it home when so many have not?
Don't get me wrong, I have paid my price, I left both of my legs I in that desert.
I still remember that day, just under a year ago, the heat, was stiffling, we were somewhere outside of Kabul, and an IED went off. I was knocked unconscious for a few minutes, but I managed to wake up, opening my eyes to see my legs feet away from me.
Something like that never leaves your mind, but I came home so many did not.
And just the other day thirty one of our brave soldiers go down, and you realize that someone has to stop these MONSTERS from doing any more damange than they already have.
I did not know men but I lost friends in this war, men and women both. Bullets and IED's do not care whether a person is male or female.
And over there even children are victims of war, five six and seven year old suicide bombers. Who would do such a thing to a child, but it's done?
The thought makes me sick.
At times I feel guilty for making it home, even with my loss, but at other times I wish I could go back and make those BASTARDS pay for what they have done, but my days of being a soldier are over. At least a soldier over there, but that is not going to stop me from saying what I have to say or doing what I have to do.
At times I am left to wonder if those who are suppose to care do though. In the news a day after it happens barely a mention, don't they deserve better than that. Shouldn't we somehow be remembering these heroes?
To Be Continued