Somber - the emotion of the evening. Sitting in the middle of my bed, occasionally glancing up at the stars emanating from my ceiling, I can't help but think about the people whom I clutch dearly to my heart. I know my relaxed, subdued nature has been brought about by my watching, yet again, another heart wrenching NatGeo documentary. You would think my lesson would have been learned by now. Somehow, with every viewing, I have a growing appreciation and respect for all that I have in my life. That blossoming knowledge most certainly outweighs any sorrow that may initially spring to life out of my tear ducts. Tonight's documentary, Restrepo, took you on a journey with the second platoon in Afghanistan. Front row seats into the battles, brotherhood, and deaths of these soldiers. Their fearless honor for our country, and their raw dismay when one of their men falls. I was a wreck. The men I watched were sacrificing their lives for me. The visual aid of their love left me dumbstruck. I dated a man in the marines, Ben, who had a few tours to Iraq. I would write him multiple letters, every day. Only to receive one every two to three weeks from him. He would talk about the kids he would meet in villages who instantly befriended you when you gave them candy. He would complain about standing guard for 10 hours straight, humming every and any song that came to his mind. He would joke about having to pee so badly int he middle of the night that he ran into a building and knocked himself out because he couldn't see outside. But he always spared me the stories of people being killed, or oncoming fire he received. Not until one evening, when I was on the phone with him (a rare occasion) did it hit me what he was doing there. We were talking about him flying me out to Hawaii, where he was based, when he screamed. He said, "Baby, there's an explosion, I love you, I have to go." I didn't hear from him for weeks. The day he called me back I bawled. Not until then did I understand what it meant to be loved. He survived his last tour, and although our relationship didn't survive, we remained close friends. A little over a year ago he was riding his motorcycle when he got hit by a drunk driver. He died instantly. I have never been more heart broken in my life. He was a fighter. I know he is heaven now, arm wrestling with angels, and comparing the width of each other's biceps. Something changed in me after Ben passed away. A new fear of losing people that I love. It has kept me from fulling allowing myself to be in a relationship. To open my deepest emotions to friends. To invest. After watching Restrepo tonight, I couldn't help but start to feel selfish. These men, Ben, and so many others are risking their lives that I may live mine to the fullest. That I may hold nothing back. That I may invest. That I may fall in love. In their names, I want to say I am sorry, and I want to say thank you.
