So long Iraq

We have spent the last few days cleaning up our rooms, packing up gear and readying the buildings for our replacements. All preparations for the trip home are complete and now we are just waiting… waiting for a flight out of here, waiting to finish our final paperwork, and waiting to see the faces of our loved ones. We sleep in one giant room; our bags packed and ready to go. There isn’t much to do but we fight off the boredom as best we can with books and card games.

There isn’t the feeling of excitement that you’d expect from soldiers about to head home after a long deployment. I don’t think it has fully hit us yet. Also, there is the fact that we still have several hurdles to jump before we’re free and clear of this thing. When that plane finally carries us away, one more trip outside the wire, we’ll realize just what it means. We’re finally going back to our lives we’ve put on hold for the last year and a half.

I remember when we first arrived in Iraq. We looked at units that were on their way out realizing just how long it would be until that day finally came for us. Well the day has just about arrived and I am very ready to leave. There is a surprising sense of sadness about it though. Iraq has been my home for the last year. Many of the people and places are very familiar to me, and I leave here knowing that I will likely never see them again. Even if I never return I know that a part of me will always be connected to this place. This is where I’ve experienced some of the most intense emotions of my life and build memories that will never leave me.

While cleaning up my room the other day I came across a copy of my will. A document that I wrote in a somber mood, thinking of my own death, now seemed hilarious to me. All of my petty knick-knacks meant for one friend or family member or another. I remember just what I was thinking when I wrote it, that I might not make it out of this and that I wanted one last way to tell people back home that I love them. I’m not really sure why that seems funny to me now. Maybe because I did make it through and that a particularly large weight has been taken from my shoulders. We no longer have to worry about people trying to kill us. We’re going home. Now the only thing I need to worry about is the infamous "ironic death." We’ve survived a year in one of the most dangerous places on earth; now we just need to avoid choking on a hotdog back home or getting hit by a garbage truck. Other than that, the ever present feeling of danger and uncertainty has taken its leave. Now I can concentrate on less weighty issues like the high price of fuel or the girl drama that I will inevitably get my self into. Back to life as usual and damn does it ever feel good.

Most of my life I’ve been interested in politics and philosophy. During our train up for our part in this war I had myriad opinions and criticisms. But to paraphrase a line from the book "Jarhead," once you’re here politics and opinions don’t mean a thing. I witnessed both the terrible and the grand. I learned of the compassion and generosity of the Iraqi people and the beauty and innocence of their children. My personal barometer of success in Iraq no longer relied on the larger picture of a stable government, reduced troop levels, or number of dead insurgents. My goal has simply been to leave my little piece of this country a little better than when I found it. And by that standard I can say with pride that we accomplished our mission here. Not only have we been able to affect the lives of many people but they have had an enormous impact on us. I remember first thinking how different Iraqis were from us, how strange their behavior and customs were from what we’re used to. Now I see just how similar we are. It’s cliché but true. The children are just as cute and playful as any others. The men and women have the same dreams that we all have; to provide for their families and live happy, fulfilling lives.

Over the last few weeks I’ve done a decent job of wrapping things up. I’ve said my goodbye’s to the kids and to a few of the Iraqi interpreters who have become my good friends. I leave without loose ends or regrets. This has been an amazing experience, one which I am thankful for being a part of. One more chapter in this story is closed, leaving only one more to go; my return home.