Love in a War Zone
My husband is in Afghanistan. Most of the time I just put it in the back of my mind. I have a full-time job and three kids. I’m exhausted, and I don’t have the time to really think about what exactly he’s doing and what it means. I wear a yellow ribbon on my coat. I wear his dogtags, but the baby steals them. But I don’t think about it.
Tonight, instead of going to sleep my husband –the love of my goddamn life– took his weary, camoflauged ass to the rec center to get on the Internet and do a video chat with me and the baby. It was great to see his face and hear his voice. But afterwards, I got terrified. He’s in a really really dangerous place and bad guys want to kill him. It would make their day to kill him. And he would never come home and his baby would never remember him.
This war shit fucking sucks, and fuck fuck fuck the stupid goddamn government that put him there. And fuck those fucking shitass Taliban fuckers that are killing Marines. People will never see their fathers and husbands and brothers and sons again because of those fucking shitstains.
Semper motherfucking fi.