thoughts on being the sister of a soldier

I love my brother more than anyone else in the world.

Anyone.

The night I graduated college (I was deathly ill, hopped on cold medicine and wine from the huge party my parents were throwing for me) he told me he was joining the Army.

I cried.

Three weeks later, I drove him to the recruiters office and saw him off as he headed to Fort Benning for boot camp. His MOS? Infantry.

I cried.

In June (he was home for a short stint in the middle of boot camp due to injury) I went to Fort Benning and watched as my little brother graduated boot camp. It was a proud moment to watch my baby brother who I once made play house with me and had a baby doll named Lee become a soldier.

Two weeks later, he left home once more, headed for Washington state.

On September 11th, I watched the ceremonies and remembered the day vividly. But it was different. I thought of my brother who was soon heading off to fight a war that was brought on by that day.

I cried.

A couple days later, my brother left for Kuwait. I told him not to be hero.

I cried.

Weeks after he arrived in Kuwait, he went to Iraq. Despite how much things have calmed down in Iraq in recent years, there are still reports of bombings. Reports of deaths and injuries.

And my brother is in the heart of it all.

For my mother, every phone call could be a report that my brother has been injured. Every knock on the door could be someone coming to tell her the worst has happened - that my brother has made the biggest sacrifice for his county.

I worry about his safety every single day. The fear and worry is more than I imagined it being. I do not watch the news and try to avoid the headlines in the newspaper, but the concern I feel for my brother is ever-present.

The fear that if the worst should happen, I am the one who must plan his funeral. And that thought is terrifying.

How could it not be? He is the most precious thing to me. The most loved, the most adored.

We are opposites. Completely and utterly. But he's the other half of me. He has everything I lack.

The other day at work, a nice old man came in. I asked him if he was in the Army (because of his hat) and he said yes, retired. I told him that my brother was in the Army, too. He asked where he was stationed. I told him Iraq.

This is what he said to me: Tell him I said thank you. My prayers are with him. And thank you for sacrificing him.

I cried.

(I am not a crier).

photo: kuwait