Cheers to the dead. They’re the only ones whose war is truly over.
A big part of my reservation about making these blog posts is I want to be candid, but I don’t want to dishonor my comrades or their memories.
Exposing my wounds is my decision. I can live with whatever consequences may come. My experience isn’t just about me though.
30+ men made each trip with me. Not everyone came home from Afghanistan. Wounds happened on each trip. Some guys went on third and fourth tours. Some of us collected injuries and went home early. Each man’s story intertwined with the 30 comrades to their left and right.
We were grunts. The backbone of the army. The queen of battle.
Those were the bravest most honorable men I’ve ever had the privilege to work with. I had leaders that I would have followed to the gates of hell. I worked with men who went on to be those leaders. Some of them still serve today. I had the privilege and duty of leading men in combat. Three other men who’s lives were my direct responsibility.
As I wrote these posts I try to remind myself that there may be other guys going through issues. Guys who don’t get any sort of therapy reading their history through someone else’s lens.
I have found some encouragement that some guys are and will drive on as long as I feel it’s helping me at no one else’s expense. I’d write either way.
The Outlaw Crow Killer
Life after door kicking. 