Here I am, still breathing, on Thanksgiving Eve. 10 months ago, I didn't think I would ever breathe again. I really thought my life was over. And it wasn't-but it will never be the same. Evan dominates my mind as I sit here.

Tomorrow it will one year since we were last with him, right before we sent him back for his second deployment. Hard to believe. I think about all the soldiers that are over there, away from their families, through the holidays this year, and all I want to do is cry for them. I remember one year, I can't remember if it was Thanksgiving or Christmas, but we were all at my Aunt Claire's house in Columbia, and Evan called us from Iraq, and he was on speaker phone, and we were all in tears by the time we hung up. He was on the line with us while we said the blessing, I remember it so distinctly.

I could never have dreamed this. I am waiting to join a TAPS siblings chat group online at 9 PM tonight, and I'm mad about it. I'm mad I am a part of this group that I never wanted to be a part of. I'm mad that Evan isn't here with us, for the holidays. I'm mad I'm not talking to him downstairs right now, in my parent's living room, or just on the phone. I'll take ANYTHING, but having him gone, forever.

I was looking through some old letters that I had sent to Evan, this particular one being from 2004, that I found to be interesting. Here are some excerpts:

Evan,

I am so glad to have heard from you, and that everything is okay. I'm trying not to worry, but strength has never been my gift. I want you to know that I am so proud of you and the person you have become. I know you will face many challenges, but I have absolutely no doubt that you will succeed in anything you put your mind to. I have the utmost faith in you. I think about you and pray for you every day. I always wonder what you are doing at that moment. I miss you and am so thankful to know that you're fine. I love you, Alice

I think so often of how I want to tell him again, how proud I am, and that he is my hero. He knew-I have many, many letters that prove that, but I just want one more.

I sat at the cemetary yesterday in complete disbelief. Sometimes I still have that out of body feeling. I wonder if I will have that for the rest of my life.

I will close with a letter that my dad sent out to our family and friends, the day that Evan returned from Iraq on his first deployment. He was elated, as we all were, that he was back on U.S. soil. I think it is something that we should all think about as we approach the holidays especially, and as we remember our soldiers that fight so that we may have freedom.

Dear Friends,

Although I usually resist the urge to send out mass emails, I want to share the wonderful news with you that my 20 year old son, Specialist Evan A. Marshall, 3rd Heavy Brigade Combat Team, 4th Infantry Division, has safely returned to the US from ths year long deployment to Iraq. He called us at 2 AM this morning from Maine on his way back to Ft. Carson, Colorado with his fellow soldiers. Let us keep the troops who remain in harm's way in service to our country in our prayers, and let us appreciate the sacrifices that our military, past and present, have made which enable us to exercise the freedoms which we so often take for granted. Sheila, Alice, and I deeply appreciate the expressions of support and concern which we have received over the past year.

Drew

And so it is. This is what I call my "new normal", which I am now living in. In Evan's words, peace is accepting life as it is rather than how you think it should be or how you want it to be. This is life now, and all I can do now is work towards accepting what has happened, and honoring my brother, who I was blessed to have for 21 years, as long as I have breath.

It's been a while since my last entry, and it's called me today. My lack of posts, however, doesn't mean a day has gone by that I haven't thought of my brother. Many days recently, I just haven't been able to find the words. Dad and I were talking the other day, and he was talking about how he had wanted to keep working to help Evan get through college, and how that wasn't a factor anymore, as I thought to myself: Oh my gosh. That really isn't a factor, because Evan REALLY isn't coming home, or going to college..like I was just now coming to that realization. Will this ever seem real or will it always feel like a dream?

I just watched Carrie Underwood’s performance from the CMA awards last night. Her song “Just a Dream” is about losing someone in the war, specifically a fiancée or husband, but there are a few lyrics that are applicable:

“Then they handed her a folded up flag and she held onto all she had left of him
Then the guns rang one last shot and it felt like a bullet in her heart…
It’s like I’m looking from a distance, standing in the background,
Everybody’s saying, he’s not coming home now
This can’t be happening to me…this is just a dream”

And so it is. It still feels like a dream. More like a horrible, horrible nightmare I suppose.

And all of the sudden, the anger returns. Mainly anger at God. Mainly, “why me? Why US??” anger. WHY was Evan in that humvee in that moment they drove over the IED?? His unit has not lost another soldier throughout their entire deployment, except for the 5 that day. Why was he one of the five??? Of course, it makes me ill whenever I hear of another soldier being killed, but it wasn’t supposed to be me, and it wasn’t supposed to be my family.

And he died in war, this Iraq war during which we have lost over 4,000 soldiers. Over 4,000 families that have had to endure pure hell. There’s just no other way to put it. And I'm mad that I can't go anywhere without a reminder. It's on the news, and just about everyone I meet has an opinion about the war. A soldier walked into a Waffle House where I was eating about a month ago and I just burst into tears, right there over breakfast. I also don't perceive so many to be appreciative of the fact that our soldiers are risking their very LIVES every day so that WE can rest easy. I read a quote recently that I really like:

“He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing less than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known…He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being - a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.”

I read something recently, a quote from a Mom that lost her son in Iraq. She says, “time does not heal all wounds, it just gives you a few more seconds each day before the loss begins”. How true I find this statement to be. I do have seconds, minutes that I can breathe. I don’t forget-we will never forget. But sometimes I can be distracted for a moment. Then all of the sudden, the grief hits all over again in a wave. And so often, what people see are the public smiles, not the private tears.

In less than two weeks, it will be Thanksgiving. Last year, on Thanksgiving, is the very day I gave Evan a big hug and told him how much I loved him, and how proud I was of him, and said goodbye as he left for his second deployment. I remember walking down the hall, and looking back one more time. And whispering a silent prayer, begging God to keep him safe. Had I known that would be the last time I would ever look into his eyes…I would never have let him go. God give me the strength I so desperately need to get through this…

All I want is one more time to talk to him, one more time that I’ll never get. I would tell him, one more time, how proud I am of him. And how much I love him. And miss him. And what a deep hole there is in all our lives.