Write about your first crush.
My first crush is the man that I still kiss goodnight. But our journey was not a simple path. The returns, twists and tricks of fate. They made us work for it. I spent years living in the what if. What if I had answered the question when I was 15? What if I would have reached out throughout college? But now my, what ifs are something different?
It’s something silly. But not silly haha. It’s a silly glimmer of hope. For one day, my husband would feel comfortable enough to share his stories with the world. Ones of sugar cookie soldiers and Pop-Tart attacks.
I should be grateful for everything that he has done. Being a survivor. Never becoming a statistic.
I say it’s by the grace of God he did not become one of those 22 a day. However, he argues I deserve credit for saving him from a potential bullet to the brain.
A large part of me believes that hearing from an E5 or an E6, someone who Hollywood hasn’t glorified. Their stories might help those who the media has jaded. Maybe a glimpse into the lives of those who were not officers. Those who lived through the war knocking on death’s front door.
My husband has demons he keeps inside. I think back, wondering how he survived.
The first picture that he sent me after a lifetime a part was something I was not prepared for haunted eyes. I missed the face that once held laughter and mischief. The man before me had lost his soul along the way.
Next year, it’ll be a decade together. Now, in almost every picture, his eyes shine bright. I wish I could get my husband to write. To share what brought him through the darkness, but also what led him there.
His stories could bring more than laughter. They might let other soldiers know they are not alone.
Stories could open the eye of people who have become jaded. Everything that was served for the public to understand the wars of our brothers, who have become the wars of our sons, was drafted to cause fear.
His stories could help those who fought know not everything was in vain. Our troops helped many and saved some who would only try to kill them later.
For those who remain, their stories should be told. But to get my soldier to put his pen to paper. He asks me would read stories of an everyday joe. The world craves glamour like the Seals, Green Beret, or Delta. He was just a soldier that lived day to day.
There have been days when he thinks he should tell his story. However, he dreads the notion that some will believe he seeks only glory. But the reality is he just aspires to be sure that his friends who didn’t come home have their story is heard.
