My brother will be deployed to Iraq in December. He's currently in Hawaii and will spend two weeks in Ohio, before he leaves for "the front".
I can't quite grasp the reality of this. Or rather, it doesn't feel real. Behind my eyes, there are tears pressing forward, smarting, like an open wound, every once in a while, but not often.
When I learned of his impending mission, it felt as if I were listening to my mother tell me something mundane about her day, because she said it so matter-of-factly: Zach's in Hawaii now, but he's being sent to Iraq in December.
I continued the conversation just as matter-of-factly. But I felt very disturbed.
There's no givens. There's nothing you can say about it. He'll be fine, you want to say to yourself, as others say it to you, with a softer voice, similar to the way they would say condolences at a funeral. There aren't good odds. There aren't bad odds. And that's the most difficult aspect there is to this quagmire my brother is flying into: nothing's predictable.
I have three months to adjust to the idea of my brother being in Iraq, and then however long he's there to hold my breath about his fate.
He's young, he's a Marine, he's foolishly loyal and errs towards a boyish optimism. He believes in himself, his fellow Marines, and his country.
I wish, mostly, that I could pray with a straight face.