I woke up this morning.
Thankful for every breath
that God let flow from my lungs.
I walked outside to feel the cold,
brisk fall air brush against my bare chest.

I’m blessed.

I wake up knowing that I am safe and protected,
A 42-year-old retired infantry soldier
shaken awake in the dead of the night.
Forced to reconcile with his own damaged brain
f***ing with his emotions,
provoking the memory of his fire team hitting the buried land mine in the humvee,
killing all but one.
Losing sleep.
Sacrificing his own sanity.

I went to school complaining about long lectures.
In another country, a 22-year-old Marine sniper rests on a pile of concrete rubble,
formerly a poor family's home,
for 5 ½ hours praying to GOD
that he will be able to protect his brothers.
Awaiting the Islamic terrorist
strapped down with IED’s to emerge from his hiding spot.
to kill another innocent group of people,
maybe his own squad.
Losing sleep.
Sacrificing his own life
to protect his brothers,
his country.

I went home,
mad at my father for yelling at me.
A 6-year-old boy
crying and screaming “DADDY!” in his momma's arms.
He watches the casket,
draped in the American flag,
carried by him while the trumpets blow and the rifles fire.
He lost his life.
How does one measure a soldier's sacrifice?