On December 24th, 2008 I was almost 21 and drinking wine at my Grandma’s house with my family. We were having a good time. I don’t really talk to that side of the family anymore though. I got a phone call from my best friend, Kyle. I joking let my uncle answer. Kyle asked to talk to me. He sounded angry.
The next few words he said were like a a fucking nuclear bomb that seared my fucking brain for life. He said, “NineMileTower, Steve died (in Iraq). A bridge gave out, his hummer flipped, and he drowned.”
That was in 2008. I’m 37 now. I have two beautiful girls and an amazing wife. I think of Steve all the time. I ask myself, “Why do I deserve these amazing kids, wife and life, and he had to die?”
I fucking hate Christmas. I hate the stupid music. I hate fake bullshit decorations. I hate that I’m supposed to pretend that every Christmas it doesn’t fucking kill me that he isn’t here. I’m here enjoying my kids and their holiday and he’s dead.
I fucking hate Christmas.
Hey man, my wife got two all-expense paid vacations to Iraq in 06 and 09 (she’s a lifer so she’s still in). She has lost some folk and it hits her hard. I’m just a civilian, and can’t fully fathom all you went through, but I’m grateful to you.
I will tell you this, you’re buddy Steve would not want you to be miserable at all, and especially at the holidays. I know enough Soldiers to know exactly what he’d be telling you.
Always remember your friend. But give yourself permission to enjoy the holidays.