Towers of thick black smoke rise alongside tranquil souls that will go to their final resting place, after giving all they had in battle. Bloodcurdling shouts and cries echo throughout the battle field. The piercing sound signifies loss and defeat. 

Tears, blood, and laughter ran through a 22-year-old lieutenant’s mind—he recollects the things he shared with his brothers of war. Only hours earlier, had he joked with his troop about the simple things in life—things that seem so distant now.  He stares coldly around the hollow, empty room not able to grasp this newfound reality.

The haunting cries and shouts of war leave him sleepless and yearning for just a minute of sleep. Waking up in a cold sweat, with tears running past his scarred chin, happens more often than not. The chilling letters PTSD are heard daily by different doctors offering advice and programs that may be the help he craves.

There were nights he turned a cold metal SIG P226 in his hands, contemplating if suicide could be the answer he has been looking for. This sick feeling often results in bloody fists and holes in the walls. Angry tears follow, and pleas for his fallen brothers to have taken him with them and to forgive him for not being strong.

Years later, the breathtaking sight of thousands of pearl white gravestones at Arlington National Cemetery brought stinging tears to his eyes. He paid his respects to his beloved brothers and prayed for their safety in God’s hands. It was on this misty Monday in May that the young lieutenant was able to say all his days of suffering had a purpose.