thank you thank you thank you

They are simple words that do not seem like nearly enough.

But, today, they'll just have to do.

Thank you to all of the veterans who have served our country. Protected our country. Protected our freedoms and liberties. Protected our lives.

Thank you to all of the current servicemen and women who are serving our country, protecting our freedoms, liberties, and lives.

Thank you to my baby brother who is now among their ranks.

Thank you.

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

this boy.

Is my hero.

photo: kuwait

the hardest goodbye

This seems to be a season of goodbyes in my life.

Last month, I had to say a series of goodbyes to my best friends. It was the longest goodbye ever. But this week, I was forced to say the hardest goodbye. I said goodbye to my brother before he headed off to war.

I will say that I never thought I'd be sending someone I loved off to war. Regardless of the current climate in Iraq or whether or not I believe this is a just war we belong in (I don't, by the way, it's the liberal in me), this is my baby brother who I've sent off to a war zone where he has the potential to be hurt. Or worse.

I try not to think about the 'or worse' part because my fragile heart cannot handle it.

My brother and I are close. We are 3 years apart (2.5 for 3 months out of the year) and while I am older, I cannot imagine a time in my life that he is not a part of. He's always been there. In fact, one of my earliest memories is of taking him home from the hospital.

And while I could not even begin to guess what his favorite song might be or the last movie that he saw, I can tell you that his eyes are the most lovely shade of blue/green which I am insanely jealous of and his eyelashes go on for miles. I can tell you that he is far more stubborn than I am. I can tell you that he is one of the most generous people that I know.

He is my polar opposite. If we didn't look alike, I wouldn't even think we were related. He is an extreme extrovert. He attracts people everywhere he goes. He's never met a stranger in his life. I admire him for so much that and wish I could be the same.

I call him b-wonder, short for boy wonder. How or why that nickname started, I do not know, it's been what I've called him for so long that the origins have faded. I do remember shortening it to simply b-wonder, sitting around my grandmother's kitchen table and how it's stuck ever since. But it fits. He's my b-wonder.

And now, my b-wonder is off to war.

When I had to tell my brother, my b-wonder goodbye, I told him that I loved him. I told him to be safe. The standard.

Then I told him not to be a hero because he has to come back home to me.

I told him not to be hero because I'm selfish. I need him to be in my life - a constant, permanent fixture no matter how many days or miles separate us - and to walk me down the aisle one day in his uniform.

I told him not to be hero. But the thing is, he already is.

eight years later

It was eight years ago that the whole world changed.

Like most moments in history that stand our brighter (or darker, I suppose) than most, those who lived through them remember every last detail. Where they were when they heard (or saw), what the weather was like, what happened in the moments following.

I was in a classroom. I watched, in real time, as the second plane hit the World Trade Center. President Bush was in town. It was sunny. The day passed in a blur of different news channels and talk of war.

The whole world changed. Everyone will tell you that. The darkest day in our history. The greatest attack on America - on our home.

Yet, my world didn't change. My day-to-day life remained the same. The only thing that changed was what was shown on my TV and what everyone talked about.

I have been to New York City - the greatest city - twice.

Both times after that fateful day. I have visited Ground Zero and stood where thousands lost their lives and thousands saved lives. I mourned those lost and celebrated the heroes who rose up. I mark this day each year, every year. I remember where I was, the sunny weather, and the terrifying scenes that followed.

And while this is my home, it never hit home.

Until this day, 8 years later.

Because 8 years and 3 days after the attack on this county - after the planes flew into buildings, towers fell, and people lost their lives to an act of terrorism - my baby brother is headed to war.

A war that begins and ends with that attack on this county, eight years ago.

Eight years later and it finally hits home. It's finally personal.

My brother, like thousands, maybe millions of others, is becoming a hero because of September 11th.

brave hearts do not back down

Fort Benning, Georgia.

This is the place where my brother has spent the past 20+ weeks becoming a soldier (4 of those weeks were spent back at home, due to medical complications). Not only did he become a soldier, he became a part of the infantry. Perhaps the hardest of all jobs in the Army

Most definitely the hardest on this sister's fragile heart.

This is also the place we just got back home from (7+ hour drive each way) to go see this boy-turned-soldier of ours graduate.

And a soldier he surely was. Though we'd seen him a few weeks earlier so it wasn't as though it was a huge shock to see him in his transformed state, but he did look rather dapper in his uniform.

We watched his turning blue ceremony Wednesday where the blue ribbon you see around his shoulder was pinned onto him, officially proclaiming him an infantryman.

Friday morning, we went here:

The National Infantry Museum.

Of course, since it was only a thousand degrees in south Georgia, they held the official graduation ceremony outside. Where they set off colored smoke bombs.

And they came at us with guns.

It was your typical graduation (sans the guns, probably, I've never seen that before at any of the graduations I've been to). There was speech from someone official that contained an inspiring quote I desperately tried to retain (but failed - and so has google, they couldn't find it from the broken bits and pieces I typed in to search), there were awards given, the band played, and I held back the tears as I considered just how proud I am of my baby brother.

For now, this boy... er, solider, is home with us for a couple days before he gets stationed in Washington.

Come September, he'll be headed due east (or due west, I suppose, depending on which way he travels from Washington. I don't know the standard route) for Iraq.

And while I know he's trained for this type of thing and they made him "army strong" he's still my baby brother, my b-wonder* and I will be a mess when that day comes.

*B-wonder: Short for Boy Wonder. The nickname I honored my brother with many, many years ago. I don't know where it comes from, but it stuck. Remember, a nickname is the best gift you can give someone and that is the nickname I gifted my brother with. His real name is Michael. I prefer B-wonder.

He may be a trained solider, taught to fight during a time of war, but he will always be my little brother and I will always believe I'm stronger and bigger than him and can take him any day.

Always.