Coming Home
In the summer of 2007, I found myself in the middle of the desert, maintaining the berm around a small outpost near the Iraq border. It was just me and another soldier working together when we saw the wreckage of a Humvee that had been hit by an IED being pulled onto the post. We walked over and stood silently beside it, unable to find any words for what felt like an eternity. The blood of soldiers still stained what was left of the seats. Someone’s sons and daughters had lost their lives, thousands of miles away from home. They had paid the ultimate cost of war.
Around that same time, the political tide on the war was shifting. What had once been viewed as a patriotic fight for freedom was now being seen as a colossal mistake. Senator John Kerry famously told young people to "stay in college and not go to war." But what about those of us who were already there?
When I finally returned home, the adjustment was far from smooth. During my first week back, Lauren and I went out to dinner. As we pulled into the parking lot, I instinctively reached for my rifle. After spending the last year taking it everywhere, I panicked when I couldn’t find it, frantically asking, "Where’s my rifle?" Lauren had to snap me out of it, gently saying, "Kevin, you’re home now."
I struggled socially as well. I was angry, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone about my service. I wasn’t interested in hearing opinions about the war or watching the news as the death toll climbed higher. I just wanted to be left alone.
While I was in the desert, people my age were enjoying typical college experiences—watching football, living carefree lives. I didn’t resent them for it, but I didn’t understand them anymore either. Our experiences were now drastically different. Anyone who acted tough within this group seemed laughable. I had seen true toughness up close, and it wasn’t them.
Over the years, I’ve connected with other Iraq and Afghanistan vets who feel the same. I can usually spot them in a crowd. We see the world the same way, and there’s comfort in talking to them. We are marked by common experience that has shaped our lives forever.
