The hardest part about being here is knowing that things are happening back home and there is nothing you can do about it. When you leave you imagine your life gets paused and everyone is waiting right where you left them, but I think we all know that's not the case. Life, your life as you knew it, is still happening. People move, get different jobs, personalities change, babies are born, people die. You come back expecting to pick up where you left off, but you're the only one who hasn't moved on. You open the cupboard and can't figure out why the fuck the cereal isn't where you left it. We have a hard time re-adjusting because while we're here we maintain this idealized memory of home. We build up home to be this paradise where nothing bad ever happens and problems don't exist. So when we get back and the bills are overdue, and the roof leaks, and life isn't perfect... we crash pretty hard. Same thing happens when we get bad news from home.
While I'm here I'm fully prepared to get the news that another soldier has died. It's expected and it happens. What I'm not prepared for is when someone dies at home. Home is safe, and normal, and God-dammit that shit is supposed to be on motherfucking pause. Today I found out that one of my roommates and good friends from college is not going to be there when I get back. The shower is the only place in my entire world where I have any privacy, so that's where I cried today. Dan,we're all going to miss you more than you could know. I hope you found what you were looking for. RIP man.
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