What I intended to write last night

There are some readers here that either don't know my brother Danny was in Iraq or don't know that he is now home. A friend recently asked me how he was doing over there and I was shocked that she didn't know he was back. I realized I had never written a thing about him coming home on here.

Danny and I have a very volatile relationship. It wasn't always like that. When he was a little baby, before he could talk or walk, we got along fine. Well, with the exception of that one time I almost killed him by shoving cheese and raisins down his throat before he even had teeth. But, I assure you, it was innocent. I just thought he was hungry.

As we grew and got older, we took completely different world views. His ideas and values differ greatly from mine. We are both strong willed, bullheaded people, with big mouths, strong opinions, and a tendency to shout. Just add alcohol and what you have is instant combustion.

We've never resolved the issues we had. We probably never will. As soon as I learned he would be heading to Iraq, I buried the hatchet in a place that no one knows but me. That's not to say all is forgiven and forgotten. It's just gone missing. Like Jimmy Hoffa, it won't be found.

He's a different person now than the one that left for Iraq. I think we're both different. I don't think we'll ever get into it like we used to. Having to say goodbye with the notion that you may never see that person again somehow changes things. I'm just happy he is home.

It is no secret that I hate this war. I hate the lies that led us there. I hate those that lied to us to get us there. I hate the fact that so many people, Iraqis and foreigners, have died as a result. I hate that so much money is being spent to make the elite even richer from this horrific bloodletting. But I am proud of Danny. Very proud.

I'm proud that he went to a hostile land and befriended strangers rather than built up walls of distrust and suspicion. He adapted to their culture and learned a bit of their language. He treated the Iraqis with humanity and extended himself out to them. And he discovered the rich rewards of doing so. He counts many Iraqis amongst his closest friends. He's introduced me to one that has in turn become my friend. I'm proud of that.

So as abhorrent as this war is to me personally, I have gained directly from it. I have my baby brother back in my life. We are family once again. If it weren't for Iraq, that never would have happened.

Danny's girlfriend Amanda created an enormous scrapboook for him while he was gone. Before his return, she asked that we each compose a letter to him to include in it. Here is mine. And if you are tired of reading here, instead go to my cousin Melissa's blog and read hers. Get a box of tissues, though. Tears cometh.

I just found out from Mom that you have landed in Jersey. You are safe. Well, safer, anyway. You are home. Back to those that love you and that you love. For now, at least.

Having been the one gone, the soldier in harm’s way, the one in the trenches, you probably cannot even imagine the huge burden that has been lifted off those left behind who love you. It may even surprise you to know that the pain of having you there, to those of us here, was so intense it might as well have been physical. We, the women in your life – your mother, your sister, your aunts, your cousins, your true love – clung to one another, like life preservers, like sanity preservers, like soul sisters. We formed a bond that could only be created through war. You know that bond well, I’m sure. So, in essence, there is always good with the bad. It is the good that we must treasure.

And you done good. You know that. You feel it. Iraq is a part of you. It is where you became a man among men. You did a lot of growing there. You did a lot of good there. You rose above your peers and made friends with the enemy. They touched your soul, and you theirs. I have little doubt of your desire to return. Maybe not now. Maybe not again during this war. But you will. There are plenty of people who talk about a part of them dying in places like Iraq. I hope you see that it really isn’t a piece of you having died, but a part of you left behind. You left a piece of who you are there, a piece of your heart. You left friendships and brothers. You left their families and loved ones. You are now tied to Iraq and her people. Forever.

Colonel James, Sergeant Tuliau. You’ll carry around them around with you, too. Make sure you toast a drink to them now and again. I will do the same. It is the best anyone can ever hope for in this life: to be remembered. I will remember them for what they were to you, how they were there for you. Their sacrifice was great, but greater was the loss to those that loved them. I am truly sorry for your loss. Time dulls the pain, but you can never fully heal. Honor them with a smoke and a shot. That too dulls the pain.

Now it is time for you to be your focus. It is time for you to create your life, your future. The direction of your journey is determined by you. Seize it now while you are on top. You have long sought and finally found a mate, a match, a friend, a love. I have never been so happy for you. Or so scared. When I saw how happy you were, yet so fragile as you walked on that plane to return to Iraq, I trembled. And I prayed. Oh, Lord, how hard I prayed. My greatest fear, that once you had found the happiness you longed for, it would be stripped away from you, dwelt within me and made my heart pound. Prayer was the only thing to quell it.

I finally know what it means to exhale. I’ve been waiting to exhale since that day in Ko’olina, lazing on the beach with Mom and the kids, when her phone rang out to tell us you were boarding a plane to war. I held my breath, held it so tightly, as if holding it tightly meant that somehow I was keeping you safe. My brother, my baby brother. Who would take care of him? Who would make sure he was doing what he was supposed to do? You did. You took care of yourself and others. No longer a baby, but a man. Welcome home. And thank you. Thank you for bringing yourself back to us. I love you more than you will ever know.