I woke up this morning after an amazingly restful night to pick up the paper and a cup of coffee this morning. After reading the headline, I immediately wished I hadn't.

9 American soldiers killed in Afghanistan on Sunday. It goes on to say that this is the deadliest attack in Afghanistan in 3 years. Instantly, my heart felt broken all over again for these 9 families. My mind replayed the day we found out about Evan, and I imagined what these families are going through in this very moment.

I also thought about how many would read that headline, and what would go through their mind. I think many have gotten used to reading about these fatalities in the paper-I believe most have even gotten to the point where they are detached from it, and that's a hard pill to swallow.

..And then I remember hearing about fatalities on the news while Evan was deployed. I certainly payed more attention to them before, and my heart broke for these families, but of course, it just didn't affect me as if it were my family. I said a quiet prayer for the family, and thanked God that it wasn't Evan.

And then it was us and it was me, one horrible day.

I was in Starbucks this morning, and they had bags of coffee you could buy to write a short message on and they would ship them oversees to the troops. I really wanted to consider what to say, so I decided to go back tomorrow morning when I would really have time to think about it.

And it would be easy to just let it go, and to not go back and not do it. I've never seen those in any Starbucks (And I've been in a lot of Starbucks). It seems like such a small thing, but I believe that every little bit counts, and I believe that every time a soldier in Iraq or Afghanistan receive anything that shows that Americans are in support of them, it makes a difference to them in that moment.

People keep telling me how strong I've been. Interesting that I haven't felt strong. I've felt incredibly weak, in fact. But when I look back and think of the progress even so far, something within me tells me that I have been strong. One of our dear friends that was around the house the first few weeks told me later that she didn't think I was going to make it. One interesting thing she pointed out was that I wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. I honestly could not even lift my head. I couldn't function as a normal person.

But somehow, eventually, I just kicked into survival mode. I believe all of us have it, even if we don't know it. I sure didn't know I had it in me, of all people. I hear people say all the time that they couldn't go on if one of their parents, or their kids, or their husbands or wives or siblings were taken from them. I can't tell you how many times someone has said to me, "I can't even imagine."

But then in the time it takes to receive phone call, all of the sudden they are faced with it and the only choice they have is to survive, and so they do. And all of the sudden the strength that they didn't know they had, that has been in there all along, surfaces.

I can't tell you how many stories I have heard since Evan's death, of people losing loved ones: a friend that lost a child to suicide, another that lost a child to homicide, my aunt who lost her husband in a car accident, many others that have lost loved ones in this war, we are all, in fact, survivors of these unthinkable tragedies.

So maybe as I look back, I have been strong. I have certainly tried to be, especially for my parents, even when I feel as though I have failed miserably. I was telling a friend the other day that I couldn't believe I was sitting there in front of him, that I had even made it to this point, after being dealt this shocking blow.

And all of the sudden, I realized that just that very fact makes me strong, and makes me a survivor.