When I was in Iraq, I was hell bent on making myself depressed and feeling sorry for myself for being in such a shitty place. Little did I know that the people that loved me back home in the US were suffering just as bad as I was, if not worse. Remember that part in American History X where Derek's mom visits him in the slammer? Remember when she says "You don't think I'm in there with you?" The emotion in that scene is pretty relevant to how people here in Oxnard were feeling about me. I learned a long time ago not to take for granted the things that seem trivial to myself, but for others, quite meaningful. I also learned that being alive is a privilege that some people just don't have anymore, God rest their souls, and that their loved ones are suffering their loss. Being over there in Iraq for that long gave me a lot of time to think about things in my life. A lot of priorities were changed, and ultimately, my family was first on the list. I had received some emails that made me pretty concerned about how they were dealing with me being in Iraq. At first all I could think about was how selfish they were to tell me how bad it was back home. "How the fuck do you think I am over here!? You tell me this shit while I have to deal with my friends getting hurt!?" Unbeknownst to myself at the time, I was the selfish one. I realized after hundreds of missions, that my family was worrying about me every minute of their lives, and all I had to worry about was pulling security for my fucking battalion commander. I can only imagine what it must have been like for them to try to keep going on with their lives while thinking about what might be happening to me in Iraq. I can only be in awe when I think about how unfathomable their love for me is. My brothers girlfriend gave me a gift when I returned home for leave. I was told not to open it until I got on the plane to Hawaii, but I couldn't resist. It was a bible with my name on it and a book about understanding the presence of God when it seems like he wasn't there. Why did God let all those american soldiers die? Why did God let innocent husbands, and sons, and fathers, and uncles, and cousins, and brothers die out there in Iraq? Did I forget about God while I was out there? Yes. Did I pray all the time while I was out there? Yes. Am I able to do both of those things while I was out there? Yes. Sometimes it felt like he wasn't there because of all the horrible things that were happening. But, shit...I'm alive. When you're out there, you believe. I guarantee that every soldier that has seen combat has felt God in some way, shape, or form. Even if they didn't believe, they prayed.
