A War Story

It was October 2001. The place? Afghanistan. After the horrors I saw unfolding on the television I had packed my bags, hugged and kissed my family, left my home. I wanted to live in a free world, where mothers, and fathers, brothers, and sisters could feel safe. I had heard it before each November 11th, that sometimes people had to make sacrifices in order to make sure we could all live the peaceful and comfortable lives we had in our home country. That's why I knew, at age 21, that there could be no higher honor than fighting, and possibly dying, to preserve the freedoms I had known growing up. When the first of the towers fell that terrible September day I held my loved ones close and together we prayed. A few hours later my bags were packed. I was dressed military greens as I drove away. I knew what my future held even if at that moment I had no idea where the next month would find me. But here I was, stepping off the plane and into the desert. My heart was poisoned with anger and hatred. I could feel the rage coursing in my veins, felt the willingness to rip through the savage men who had turned my world upside down. I had come here looking for enemies. I had arrived here, expecting revenge. Instead I stepped off the plane and I saw something else. Before me were women and children, mud-covered and terrified. I was struck with grief at their poverty. I found myself wondering how I could have ever been such a fool as to think that my own and my family's security had some bearing on the world outside my door, when these people clearly had trouble just putting food on their tables each day. If they even had tables. I looked into the sad eyes of the children, and I knew then that I could not go on.

Somewhere, as though far away I heard my commanding officer urging us forward with guns at ready. Some of the boys got a little bit confused, I think. They started shooting, as if they had come face to face with some invisible threat. All around us was screaming, crying, and swirling dust clouds. I ran. I didn't know where I was going then, but it was away from there. Before I managed to get out of the chaos I saw some terrible things, things I won't write here. I really am sorry. I apologize for how wrong I was, and for the mistakes of my fellow soldiers. I apologize that our government was so quick to point fingers. I apologize that I wasn't strong enough to stand up and say, "No. This isn't right." And mostly I apologize that our fear and grief as a nation blinded us to the plight of our fellow man.

I wandered aimlessly for awhile, with no way of getting home and fearing for my life at every turn. I never in a million years would have guessed I'd become a deserter. I always thought our nation was some great place, but in reality all people are just the same underneath it all. We all eat, sleep, breathe... and all of us are afraid. I don't know if this letter will ever get to my family and friends. I hope it does. I love you all and miss you terribly. I wish you could know I died a hero, have a flag and a metal to remember me by... but the truth is even if you did, I'm not sure I would die feeling I deserved some sort of honor. I am not sure I could be put at ease dying for my country. Know if you read this, I died to preserve human life. I realized I would kill so many mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, wives and cousins if I had done what was expected of me in my line of duty. I know so many innocent people would have died at my hands. I'm sorry if I disappointed you. Please know, that if we do not ever see each other again, mom, dad, Christie, Abby, and Danny... I love you, so much. I did what I thought was right. I hope you always are able to follow your hearts as well.