His Letter To Me From Iraq

I woke this morning to another beautiful Lowcountry day. Excited about celebrating the 4th on the rivers of Beaufort, I reached for my favorite beach bag. A small blue box fell from the shelf as if a small reminder...

Inside this box is a letter from a dear friend who on May 7, was serving in Iraq. We had been writing back and forth throughout his tour. We chose handwritten letters simply because he couldn't "hold" an email.

I set aside my multi-colored beach bag and sat on the floor of my closet. I opened the letter even though I have it memorized word for word. Just as it did one year ago, it stalled my breathe and pained my heart.

He wrote:

......."You never expect it to happen. Not to you. Not to any one of your friends. You are young and strong. Invincible. But when it finally comes, there is no way to stop it. Nothing you can do or say can make it go away. Your friend is hurt. Bad. The reaction is always different. Sometimes he's laughing. "Holy shit hahaha. Cant believe they @#$%#$ got me." Sometimes he apologizes, as if it were his fault. As if there was something he could have done. Sometimes he cries, calling out for someone to help. Sometimes hes quiet. Not moving. When its happening the training kicks in. You tell him hes going to be fine, regardless of the injury. The corpsman provide aid and he is taken off in a helicopter to a place where he will be taken care of. Healed. Fixed. Your buddies going to make it. There isnt a doubt in your mind. Once hes gone, the questions start to arise. Why? Why him? What did he do to deserve that? Why now? Later on you get the news. He's gonna make it. Thank god. He's gonna be @#!$%# up but hes still alive. Still here. But sometimes... that good news never comes. Sometimes you get the word that he didnt make it. That your friend is gone. You dont believe it at first. He was just there. I just saw him. He spoke to me earlier today.... but the realization soon creeps in. The hurt is so big. So painful. Some take it better then others. Some cry. Some shake with anger. But each and every one of you feels empty. Sick. Sad. ...'

This was one of his longest letters, words pouring over five pages. He wrote of what he had seen, what he had done, and how he wished none of it had ever happened.

His request of me...

......." Laugh, smile, please don't cry Cherimie. What ever small worry that seems so big in your life, trust me, it isn't. I keep a picture of you and Jackson as a reminder that normalcy still lives somewhere in the world. You are my dearest friend. It is for you, for my family, for my country that I wear these boots that seem to have molded to my feet. Run around barefoot, Cherimie. Don't worry about your hair or your clothes...smile at everyone...and don't let one tear fall. Eventually I will come home, God and Corps willing. Pretend you don't see the change and I will pretend it never happened....."


He is home now, safe. Please take a moment and thank those who wear the boots that seem molded to their feet, so that we can eat hot dogs, watch fireworks, and enjoy lazy days on the river......

God Bless America.