We all knew what was inside the small, carefully packaged, boxes. We were not allowed to speak of the contents of the boxes, which were being shipped to an undisclosed location, even if the world was looking for weapons of mass destruction.
Iraq was hotter than usual on this Sunday afternoon.
Our mission was classified a secret.
How could I relate to my friends, my parents and my girlfriend after this? How would I be able to relate to anyone after this who wasn't in the military? Classified military secrets would create, a space of nothingness, between Charlene and me.
I had been outside of my heart for almost a year now, I'm not sure if my heart will hold up, after the grief I have seen. Will my heart mend in time for Charlene?
She had been faithful, I could tell from her letters. She writes me three or four times a week, and spends her time going to school. She wants to be a nurse and says, she'll support us until I get back on my feet.
There were times, I wish she would write a "Dear John Letter" rather than wait for a man whose heart is broken into a million pieces. At times, my heart went out to a fellow solider who was injured in combat. At other times, my heart went out to the people in this country, when I saw and felt the pain on their faces.
More than anything I want to return home and be the man that Charlene deserves. But each day, I wonder if I'm even fit to be a good husband. I had to shut my heart down to survive. The pain was just too great.
Note from the Author: To my knowledge this is a fictional entry, into a soldier's personal journal.
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