On Chevy day, Karl and I were at Ft. Lewis so we stopped by the memorial there. As we approached the memorial, I saw roses. They were not there for Chevy. The roses were for a young woman who died years after and the day before Chevy.
Every day is an anniversary. Every day is a day someone died in Iraq or Afghanistan over the past decade.... or a day someone lived.
I have not named today. It is not a day Karl remembers in particular. It is just a day when we are alive and safe. Today is a day, just like yesterday and the day before. If you ask Karl, today is an anniversary. It isn't a named one, but every day is an anniversary of the 27 months total that Karl spent in Iraq.
Sometimes it seems tedious to write about Iraq and our lives. I feel like I repeat myself often. Sometimes I am exhausted with what else to say about war and death. I check out books at the library titled WAR and Thank You For Your Service, written by men who have been embedded in war zones.
I am not embedded in a war zone. War is embedded in my house. Eventually, it is normal. It is the color on the walls, the creaky floorboard in the hall, the weeds in the yard. It is a nuisance, but it is a background nuisance. It is the jump into a defensive crouch when our five year old surprises his daddy, it is the ever-present smart phone as a back up brain, it is the way he walks, the way he talks, it is Karl.
