I don't want to have to remember.

I am finding Memorial Day a little more than I can handle this year. Every time I hear something about dead soldiers, dead heros, the "true meaning" of the holiday, it feels like sandpaper across my skin and I have to tune it out or start losing my composure.

Yesterday I made the mistake of starting to read Parade magazine's cover article about a soldier who saved his men by throwing himself on top of some sort of explosive device. I only got a couple of paragraphs into it before I could feel my throat closing up and my tears starting up in the corners of my eyes.

I wound up breaking down and crying later on that evening, much to the husband's frustration. He doesn't understand, really, how I feel. Having been in and around the military so many years he's been through so much worse than I've ever had to deal with, seeing friends killed in training accidents, being shot at, all sorts of things that make my fear for a brother who isn't even doing anything dangerous, probably seem pretty silly.

But I am scared. It's really hit the last few days, and the irony is that my brother isn't even out of the country right now. He's home for two weeks. My sister in law is having their first son and he's here for the birth (it's worked out well - she's late, so they're inducing her) and the baby's blessing.

The problem is, he's going back after that, and for some reason I'm more frightened for him than I've been all these previous months. I keep thinking about how, if he dies, I'll never be able to talk with him again.

I wish I could go out there and see him. I miss him so much.

I have to stop now, because I'm crying again.

Oh, please, please, let him come home safely.