Going off to war is such a personal, yet public moment.  Personal because we give everything we have for a short period: our families, our friendships, and our relationships.  Public because once we return the war seems like it lasts forever and we feel an obligation to share those experiences that others might learn why it was and is important to us.

War is such an enigmatic term.  We built schools, set up district councils, repaired wells, taught people the basics of democracy.  We watched the age-old customs of smuggling happen with the tools of modern warfare as the goods.  We tried to teach people to love one another, to treat each other with kindness and respect.

And we fought tooth and nail for our safety and their security; when warranted.

The most difficult part is that each time I have returned, I have come home knowing that the job was not done and that I have struggled with wanting to be back immediately: in Baghdad, the Western desert, Kirkuk, or Regional Command East in Afghanistan; completing what we set out to finish.

Friends, brothers, and sisters remain locked in struggle for years while we are home watching it happen, knowing we should be there with them.

That is really the hardest part.