Me and my weapon, "Harrison Ford"


I only cried 3 times the entire time I was in Iraq. That's quite a feat for somone who can get choked up over a good commercial. But like I've said before, I became somone else while I was there. I simply stopped being a mother, a daughter and a woman. I wasn't a sister or a girl or a woman. I wasn't even Becky or "Laddie" I was just a soldier staying alive so I could keep my battle buddies alive so we could go home.

Ive spend many more tears since I go back to the safety of my home, but then I just couldn't afford to lose it. The first time I cried was when I got my first letter from my kids. We hadn't gotten ANY mail for over a month, so when we DID, it was so wonderful! I sat on my cot beside my truck, holding my letters, feeling my heart ache for my children. I missed them suddenly- DESPERATLY and realized I hadn't thought of them in a few days. I had purposly put them out of my mind because I didnt want them in this place. Then all of the sudden, there was that loopy scrawl of my baby girl on that envelope with tear stains on it. She'd circled them and writtten "sorry I cried on the letter" I opened it and began to read...
"Mama I miss you SO BAD! Thank you for making me do right and telling me you're proud of me. Thank you for always driving me to school and kissing me goodbye in front of my friends even when I pretended I was too embarisd to kiss you back. You are the best mom in the world and I love you. Please come home safe. I will pray for you every single night. Love your doter, Kayla."
The one that really got to me the most was from my middle daughter, Courtney. She was 9 at the time, and helped her little brother Hunter with his message also.
She wrote "Dear mama, I bet it is scaree where you are. Do planes crash into bildings? Do they shoot at you much? Every night we pray for you. Hunter always prays the same thing. He says 'dear god pleez dont let my mama die.' I think it's kinda funnee. Love you, Courtney."
Well I didn't think it was funny. It tore my heart out to think of how all of this was affecting each of my children. They were watching the footage of 9/11 and wondering if all that was still going on where their mom was. They were scared I was going to die and never come home, not understanging where I was or when they would get a phone call or a letter from me again. I couldn't reasure them I was ok. No child should have to worry that their parent is not going to come home alive, but this is the life for so many kids. They had their own little life of terror, fueled by not comprehending or fully understanding and added to byb imagination.

I sat there in the sand and tears slid down my face. I tried not to let anyone see. We were all in our own little worlds of pain and lonliness at that point. Wicke had gotten a letter from her family who was keeping her baby. She came over to tell me about her news. "Hailey has 2 teeth, I can't believe she has teeth already! and I missed it!" I squeezed her arm and we sat in silence for a bit. Then we folded up our letters and I put mine in my pocket. I decided then and there I wouldnt re-enlist. This wasn't the life for me or my kids. I'd do my job and be proud of what I'd done, but I didn't want to do it forever. This was going to be enough for me.
I didn't read that letter again while I was in Iraq, but I carried it with me in my pocket for a long time. I'd touch it every now and then and pray "Dear God, please don't let their mama die"... and he listend.