I'm Proud of You, Honey

As much as I beg Andrew to come home, to not go to Iraq... I am proud of my soldier. I am proud to say, "Look there. That man is going to be my husband. Look how brave he is, serving for his country." I hope he knows how proud I am of him. He is strong and true. Loyal. He says he has a job to do and he is damn well going to do it. I respect that in him, so very much. I wish I was half as strong as he is. I wish I had even half the courage, half the motivation, half the balls that he has. Maybe I do, but I haven't yet discovered it within myself.

If asked to go to Iraq to help with the war, I would do it in a heart beat. But I think that perhaps I would be doing it for the wrong reasons. I would go to Iraq, where people are dying every single day, not necessarily to assist the nurses and doctors or anything of the sort - but because he is there. Because it would mean being closer to him. I am not saying that I wouldn't help the doctors and the nurses; I most certainly would. But I wouldn't do it for the joy of helping wounded humanity but for the joy of being in the same vicinity as Andrew, and that is probably a disastrous flaw in who I am. I think it is called selfishness.

The way I see it, life is not worth living by myself. Life is not worth living without Andrew. And the risks that he takes, I want to take, too. If he dies fighting for his country, I want to die fighting beside him. Fighting for his life. Fighting for our love. Is that not the most important thing to fight for? Love?

Who thinks I'm crazy?