This isn't my accomplishment but I've been telling my hubs he should write about his experiences with PTSD and Iraq for two years. He finally did and allowed me to share his piece on the war trauma site I write for.
http://www.notalone.com/Site/Blogs.aspx?id=6
I'm so proud of his courage I had to share.
http://www.notalone.com/Site/Blogs.aspx?id=6
There were no letters home. No sharply uniformed soldiers knocking on a loved one's door. There was no drill team toting my flag-draped carcass off an airplane. No flag was handed off to my grieving mother by my commander. None of that. Those guys are the lucky ones. They did their job then left it behind to go to heaven or to be reincarnated or whatever construct they had made for themselves in the afterlife. I've held the hand and brushed back the hair of countless men and tried to comfort them as they left my futile struggle with God. Is it wrong that I harbor a great deal of resentment for not having the same luxury?
I'm so proud of his courage I had to share.