Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you guys, but I've been busy. How is everything at home? I heard there was a storm recently, is everything okay? Did you guys loose power? Wait…that’s a stupid question, of course you lost power. We always do.

I’m sorry I can’t say where I am, but I know you want to hear how I’m doing so I’ll tell you what I can. I’m going through a tough time right now and I feel like putting my feelings in writing might help. I’m going to write everything as it comes to mind, and erase nothing, so please bear with me.
I was on a mission recently. I didn't tell you about it because I didn't want you to worry about me. You see, it was pretty dangerous. It was bad enough that my captain said that anyone who didn't want to go didn't have to; of course, everyone volunteered anyway. When he assigned us the mission I couldn't help but remember the scene from Pearl Harbor where they are given the mission to bomb Japan and Rafe says “It's the kind of mission where you get medals, but they send 'em to your relatives.” It was awfully reminiscent of that. Don’t worry though, the mission is over and I’m okay. I got pretty lucky.

A friend of mine wasn't so lucky though.
I’m not a stranger to death. Many of my comrades have died, just not returning with their teams at the end of a mission. Heck, I've killed some people before; it comes with being a soldier. But up until two weeks ago I never truly understood death.
I can’t tell you the details of the mission, but at one point when we were trying to take a building, we were ambushed. We retreated and were about to make it to some cover when I heard a scream of pain and then a thump. I turned around to see that a comrade had been shot in the leg and had fallen to the ground. He was laying face down in the dirt so I couldn't tell who it was, but that was probably a good thing. If I had recognized him right away I would probably have broken down on the spot.
Under heavy fire, we dragged him to safety. Now that we were no longer in immediate danger, I checked to see who it was. I turned him onto his back and was horrified to see the face of my roommate, one of my best friends in the service. (I wrote about him before, remember? He was the guy who saved my life back in September when I enlisted.) A lump formed in my throat. The bullet had punctured an artery and he was bleeding out. We put pressure on the wound to try to stop the bleeding but it wasn't enough. There was nothing we could do. I held him in my arms as he bled out, dying. The sound of the gunfire faded into the background and everything but his face went blurry. The only thoughts running through my head were no, no, no! NO, NO! I started to cry. We were sitting ducks, surrounded by enemies, and I wasn't able to do anything other than just sit there crying.
The worst part of it was the helplessness. My best friend was alive, his head resting in my lap, but he wasn't going to be for long. And there was nothing I could do about it. I was completely useless. Maybe if I had been faster, or stronger, or smarter, maybe if I realized sooner that we were walking into a trap, maybe then he would have still been okay. Maybe then he would still be alive. Maybe then his unborn child wouldn't have to grow up without a father. But I wasn't faster, and I wasn't stronger, and I wasn't smarter, and I didn't realize that we were walking into a trap. And now my best friend was dying because of it.
“Hey…”
I looked around to see who was talking but couldn't find the person.
“Hey…” I heard a little louder. I looked down to see my dying best friend trying to speak to me. I put my head by his ear so I could hear him better.
“Tell her…tell her I—tell her I’m sorry.”
The lump reformed in my throat and the tears came back to my eyes. I nodded and promised that I would give her the message. Satisfied, he closed his eyes, never to open them again. It was obvious that “her” was referring to his fiancé. Four months ago, when he had leave, he went to visit her. She got pregnant but he had to finish his service; then he was going to go home and start a family. Now he was never going to get the chance.
I wish I could say that at that moment I came to some great philosophical epiphany about death and the brevity of life; that I realized that we only had a short time in this world and that we had to take advantage of it as much as we could, or that we need to learn to appreciate everything we have in life because in a second it could be gone, but that would be a lie. At that moment, all I could think about was getting out of there alive and making sure that as many of my friends as possible would survive, that his death would not be in vain.
My comrades were in the same mindset as I, so we focused our energy on holding off the enemy soldiers until reinforcements arrived. In the next forty minutes, three of the remaining six of my comrades were hit and two of them died. Finally, when we were on the verge of being overrun, our backup came to the rescue.
It was on the way back to the base, when we were all sitting silently in the back of the jeep with nothing to do but think when everything that had happened finally sunk in. I got angry at myself; I got angry at G-d; I got angry at my captain, for sending him on the mission; I even got angry at the U.S. Government for getting us into this stupid war in the first place. Then my anger was replaced by sadness, and then loneliness. Three of my friends were dead. I wouldn't see them hanging out after missions or fooling around in the mess hall. Never again would I see my roommate, with whom I had spent so much time messing around in our dorm. He had become a consistent presence in my life recently, and now I would never see him again.
Before, when the people around me had died, it never affected me so much. They had always been people I just knew passively. Maybe I had spoken to them once or twice, but I never really knew any of them. I was never really close with any of them. This time it’s different. This time I was really close with all of them, especially my roommate, and I’m hurting inside. Every time I step into my room and see his empty bed and all of his stuff I am painfully reminded of his death. Every time I see the color orange, his favorite color, I am reminded of his death. Every time I see a gun I am reminded of his death. Every time I see a bullet I am reminded of his death. Every time I see blood I am reminded of his death.
I simply couldn't cope with his passing, so a week ago I went to see the military psychologist. He told me that this type of thing happens all the time and that my reaction was completely normal. We are fighting a war and in war there are casualties. That is just the way it works. All we can do is move on and try to win this war as quickly as possible so fewer soldiers will have to die.
He also told me that it’s okay to cry, that crying is not shameful, that it’s only a natural response to sadness. But I can’t cry anymore. Crying is too painful. Crying takes me back to when I was holding my best friend in my lap as he was dying. I never want to go back there. I can’t ever be that the same place again.
I’m telling you all of this because I want you to understand what I am about to say: I’m going on another one of those missions.
Yesterday my captain called us all into his office again to tell us that he had another one of those voluntary missions for us. He said that, especially after the result of the last mission, he would not think any less of us if we didn't want to go. But I have to go. I have to go so I can be stronger this time. I have to go so I can make sure history doesn't repeat itself, so I can make sure nobody’s roommate, nobody’s best friend, nobody’s fiancé dies. I have to go so my roommate and best friend wouldn't have died in vain. I’m afraid to go, I don’t want to go, but I have to go. I hope you understand.
I’m writing this letter because I know there’s a good chance I won’t make it back. I am going to give this to a friend in the service with the instruction to send this to you if I don’t. So, I’m sorry, but if you are reading this letter then it means that I have either been killed or captured. But this way, if I don’t make it back, at least you’ll understand why. I had to do it for a friend.
Whatever happens though, I just want you to know that I love you. And please all my siblings that I love them all too. You guys mean the world to me. Also, I want you to be happy. Don’t be too upset about my death, after all, everyone dies eventually. The only things that change are where, when and how. And if I am going to die, at least I’ll go out fighting.
I leave first thing in the morning so I am going to have to stop here and get some sleep. I love you with all my heart.



















With love,


















Your oldest son



I picked up the letter and read it over slowly. Then I took a match out of the box on the dimly lit table, lit it, and put it under the thin white sheet. It burned away slowly, the paper disappearing before my eyes. I was still alive, so the letter wasn't needed. When it was done burning I shut off the lamp and lay down in my bed. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow. The mission that nearly took my life was finally over, and I could sleep soundly once again.