Coming Home

My brother, who up until last week was in Iraq with the Marines, will be coming back home in about a week or so. His tour of duty was cut short by an IED (improvised explosive device) going off while he and another kid were clearing a house near the Syrian border. I don't know the full extent of the damage. From what I heard, it's a fractured/broken right ankle along with extensive shrapnel damage to his left arm. He called my mother after getting out of surgery over the weekend and he at least told her that he has all limbs intact . . . just a banged up.

He should be in Germany right now, doing some rehabilitation, and then he'll be sent to Camp Pendleton where he'll be in physical therapy for an as of yet undetermined amount of time. I know the military mentality is to get back to fighting condition so he can go back to "the shit" . . . but I don't know if I want to see him go back. I'm wishing he gets back to where he was, and that he doesn't have some sort of debilitating condition from his injuries. I just hope it's over for him and he can get a job in the Marines that does not involve him getting sent back.

My siter is still out there. They were stationed in the same base near the Syrian border, but she's working supply . . . so she's in an office out there for most of the time. This is fairly reassuring since she's not sent out on missions that would endanger her life. But she's still out there, so she's still in danger of something like this happening to her.

So . . . thank you George W. Bush. Thanks for getting us into this quagmire of a war. Thank you for deposing a powerless "tyrant" that had no WMD's. Thank you for sending not only my siblings out there but all the other kids who are serving their country in this little grudge match of yours. You're one heck of a President Mr. Bush. Goddamn idiot.