I stayed up for most of the night in a flight terminal at my last location in country.
In part, this was due to the activity of my soldiers, most of whom were staying up--likely out of anticipation for coming home and also to spend more time with each other. One group played hacky sack, and many others talked to loved ones on their computers. I was able to Face Time my wife for the first time in several days. In the process, I got to watch her feed my funny little boy.
I ended up catching an hour or two of very cold, uncomfortable sleep, wedged under the arm rests of a row of metal seats. I had to inhale to squeeze under them, which means that most people had no choice but to sleep on top of them if they chose to sleep.
After my intermittent sleep, I walked to the nearby USO, where some of my soldiers were reported to be. I came upon the building--labeled "Pat Tillman's House"--and went inside to discover what looked and felt to be a high-end cabin in the woods. There was a bar with coffee at the ready, and dozens of faux leather couches and chairs, each filled with a sleeping soldier.
A weird feeling came over me as I walked further into the "house." I felt like I was in the States--perhaps at a friend's house, where I could fall asleep without remembering that I am far from home.
I realized that every other soldier had come to the same conclusion. Each soldier was sleeping like a baby, perhaps the first time in a long time. In moments like these, I remember that each of these warriors is still someone's child, though being out here likely devoured their remaining innocence.
And many of these "children" occupying the chairs have young children of their own. While these children all remain anxious for daddy to come home, they also sleep in peace, due in large part to what their daddy did or is doing over here.
Nothing cries out for life and love like war. In the wee hours of the morning, I discovered the same link proves true for war and innocence.
On January 9th, three more soldiers, currently unknown to the public, were killed in a helicopter crash in eastern Afghanistan. Their names may not be known to us, but they are known to parents, to little children, and to God.
