The first time I read the ad, I choked and cursed and spat and threw the paper to
the floor. The US Military. I couldn’t believe that I had come across this. They want me for the US Army. How could they? I am only 19 years old, 150 pounds, 5’ 9”, and I can barely carry this crate of oranges home from the market. They want me for the US Army?

I walked home partly in shock. I looked ahead to seek reassurance from those glistening mountain peaks. They spoke to me and gave me hope. After all, the military is in my name: James William Navey. Maybe the military is where I belong. I am not doing much here in Denver as a cashier at the local market. The economy took a hard hit and I am starting to lose faith in myself and my business. I knew I had to do something for my country after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center ten years ago. Security was on the rise. Maybe the military is my destiny. I accept. Fort Bennings, Georgia here I come.



The plane landed in Atlanta. Here I was, a scrawny man amongst men who have been training their whole lives for this, men with 30 plus pounds of muscle, and men who have done four tours in Iraq. These barbarians sort of scared me. I couldn’t begin to think about my first day of training. It was going to be a rude awakening.

The barracks weren’t the least bit modern. I felt as if I were in a concentration camp in Germany in 1933. Despite the fact that my great-grandma was younger than these old barracks, we were ordered to keep each nook and cranny spotless. The beds would squeak and rattle every time we would bear any weight on them. Life in the barracks was as eerie and sinister as a graveyard on Halloween night. Every time I would lay my head to sleep for the night, I would hear the hoots and hollers of misbehaving privates or the schizophrenic hoots of the ghosts that may have haunted this ancient ruin years ago.
Day one came. 4:30am was my wakeup call. I shaved my head and headed for breakfast, dreading the day that would come. I was going to die and there was no way of getting around that. The drill sergeants were already getting a little restless. I could tell that training was going to be pure brutality.


I couldn’t believe that I made it through day one. I was so sore. I ached from head to toe and could barely feel my feet after countless hours of marching and running. I felt like a blob, uncontrollable and sloppy. Would the rest of camp really be this way? Will I even make it through?

Yes, I told myself, though I did not know if that was really true. I missed my family and friends back in the Mile High City. I wanted to go back. I really did. I wanted to see the glistening mountain tops, I wanted to be home. I did.


I heard the dinner bell. I couldn't wait to see what grease-filled, “home-cooked” meal they had prepared for us tonight. Not many women filled the dining hall, maybe 20 at most. My eyes wandered, gazing at each and every life-less and tired face. It gave me reassurance that I wasn't the only one who felt like giving up. My eyes came to a halt as I came across pure beauty. Trust me, if I could see this gorgeous face everyday, I would stay here without a doubt. Her piercing blue eyes made me feel the Rocky Mountain breeze. Her hair, blonde and smooth, made me feel my family right by my side. But her smile could fix the world from years of pain and sorrow. She lit up the room, she lit up my world. I had to find the perfect girl sometime, but I never would have thought that this old, musky dining hall would be the place. I thought I was dreaming, but it was real my friend, it was real.


Days passed, and I still didn't see her face. I knew that she wasn't going to find me again. It was over.

Sergeant Davis was knocking at my door. The longer I waited, the more intense the knocking became. I quickly answered. ¨Deployment,” Davis said. That was it. My life is expiring. One day I was bagging groceries in Denver, and now I am going to be put on a plane and taken to Kabul, Afghanistan. That’s it. This is real life and not some joke. This is war.


Deployment. That word had hit home in so many ways. My dad died because of that word, and so did my mom. 1998, was the year. Both died within days of each other. I was left to live with my grandparents. I felt abandoned and alone. I was an only child with parents thousands of miles away. Life was hard as a child, I was alone in my room most of the time. I would get the occasional card from Mom and Dad. They came about every two months. I rejoiced each time one came because it was the only way I knew that they were alive. I received letters until May 6th, 1999. Mom and Dad were supposedly returning. I soon found out that Grandma had been writing those letters since '98 when Mom and Dad both died. I couldn't believe that someone would lie to me like that.


I soon learned that life went on. I went to college, but never graduated. Here I am today. I am going to fight for my country, my home, and my parents. They died fighting, and so will I. Deployment hurt my childhood, but I will not let it hurt me again.


I arrived. The town of Kabul was so different than I had imagined. Years of pain and sorrow covered the ground. Kids sat in reluctance as they watched guns fire. How could an innocent child like this have to witness the deaths of their brothers and sisters? How could a child like this have to watch their parents get shot and die? It was horrid. Life in Kabul was so different than life in the US. I wanted to fight. I wanted to save each and every life of these poor suffering kids. They deserved so much more than this. They deserved love, and that’s all they needed.

I noticed a light in my imagination, but it just might have been real. I turned around my hundred pounds of gear to see her face. Yes, it was her. That girl from the dining hall, my love at first sight. She was still the same, each feature changed the world. I couldn’t believe she was there in Afghanistan with me. It all seemed real. All of the pain and sorrow erased my body, I was ready for battle.

I couldn’t believe that I could have the chance to protect her from this gruesome battle. I could be her hero and save her life. She might have to rely on me to cover her from an exploding IED. It was real and her life could fall right into my hands.

We lined up for assignments. Colonel Sampson gave us our base assignments and led us to our camps. I was stationed at Camp Eggers, while my love was 50 or so miles away at Camp Dwyer. I was crushed. She was out on her own, immersed in danger. Her life was in someone else’s hands. She could die, but I could as well.

I unpacked and sat in bed praying that everything would be okay. I prayed that she was safe and that she would make it out. I grabbed my pen from my bag and began to write to her.



Dear Love,

I know that this is new and that you probably have no idea who I am, but I know you. You are the girl with the smile that could change the world. I saw you in the dining hall back at training camp and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. If you saw anyone awkwardly staring at you...that was me. Sorry. I just wanted to say that I am in love with you. I knew this from that day at the dining hall. We have never spoke before, but you speak to me in every way. I just wanted to say that I want to meet you and I think that we could have a future. Well to introduce, I am James, James Navey. I am from Denver, Colorado. I am maybe 5’ 9”, but every ounce of me is full of heart and determination. I was really hoping that I was stationed with you, but that didn’t happen. I wanted to save you from anything that may have caused you pain. I just wanted to tell you to be safe. I want to meet you and speak to you in person. The world is in pain, but you can fix that. So be safe my dear, and don’t let the world bring you down.

Love,

James

It felt so good to express my feelings to her. I hope she felt the same way. I mailed the letter to Dwyer. I hoped and prayed that she would get the letter. We were lost now and this was the only way I could find her. She had the key to my heart.

It was my first day on call. I woke up and grabbed my gear and rifle. I was stationed as a Gunner on Tank 482-B. We set out on the road. It felt like a death trap covered with hundreds of ticking time bombs. We never knew when one would explode. There were no answers to this labyrinth of hatred and war. I felt like such a hypocrite. Here I was saying that this was such hatred, yet I am standing here on top of this tank firing gunshots at all of the helpless townspeople. It didn’t feel right, but I knew that this is what I had to do for my country, my family, and my girl.

A week passed and I still hadn’t heard anything from her. I trusted that she would be kept safe. She was all that I had out here. She was my everything. It was inevitable. Just thinking about her made me smile.

Another week went by. I had a break for two days so I decided to explore Kabul. I went to our camp’s post office to see if she had written back. I took out my key, inserted it into the lock, and twisted. The door opened and a letter appeared. It had that same glow as my girl. My heart dropped. At that moment, I knew that she was still alive. I rushed back to camp and sat down on my bunk.
The camp was even rustier than the barracks back at training. They were filled with dust and grime. It reeked of sweat. The stench made it hard to sleep at night. Despite the fact that camp was old and run down, it was spotless. The rooms were filled with tan. Tan sheets, tan bags, tan walls, tan everything. It was camouflaged with the dirt outside. I felt like I was trapped in an underground bunker. When everyone returned from combat, we would all tell stories and try to forget the real reason why we were here. This was the time I looked forward to. Other soldiers would open up. They felt like brothers now. The elders felt like the parents I lost years ago. I forgot my past and began to live in the present.
I opened up my letter. The edges split as I tore the envelope open. It was from her, my girl. I was so excited to read it. I started at line one:

Grace L. Taylor
Camp Dwyer, Afghanistan

Dear James,

I really appreciate your letter. Ironically, I felt the same way about you. You light up my world. I think about you all the time and wonder where you are and if you are okay. I am glad you are.
To introduce, my name is Grace Taylor. I am from Rochester, New York. I worked at my family’s tailor shop. I just found out that my dad died yesterday of brain cancer. I would normally be very upset, but your letter dried the tears from my eyes. My dad has always been a part of my life. He coached me through all of my sports as a child, and he inspired me to join the military. I am 20 years old, 5’8”, and 120 pounds. I am at Camp Dwyer and I am a bomb technician.
It is hard out here without my friends and family, but I have you and that’s all I need. You make me smile and you light up the world. I really want to meet you sometime. I hope you are well and that you are safe. I hope we come home soon. Be safe my dear, and don’t let the world bring you down.

Love always,

Grace

It felt so good to hear from her. My heart pounded when she said she felt the same way about me. I love her, I really do.


It had been about a year of the same old routine. I would set out on my tank for three or four hours, return home for an hour, and then go back out for the night. Grace and I still wrote to each other. I missed her so much. To help ease the pain, I wrote. I wrote to Grace and I wrote to Dad. Dad had always been an inspiration to me and the day he passed will stay in my heart forever. I sat down in bed while the Camp “Pow-Wow” was going on. I wrote to Dad.



Dear Dad,


I miss you. If you don’t already know, I am in Afghanistan fighting for you. I decided to leave when I saw an ad posted at the local market. I knew I had to leave and fight. I met a girl at training named Grace. She lights up my world.

I constantly think back to the day when you were hit. It kills me being out here in your graveyard. Your spirit helps me get through the pain and sorrow. Thank you Corporal Roger Navey for inspiring me to never let the world bring me down. I hope you are safe in heaven. I know God is taking care of you up there.

Dad, I miss you so much. I wish you were here right now. I pray for you each and every day. I do have a question: Have you met Robert Taylor? He’s Grace’s dad. He went up there maybe a year ago. He died from brain cancer. Grace misses him too, but we help each other conquer the sadness.

Well it’s time for me to get back to fighting. I love you Dad. Be safe and don’t let the world bring you down.


Love always,



Sergeant James Navey

I missed Dad with all my heart. I will never forget the day he died. It was a day that seemed just like the day before, dusty skies and daily routines. Dad suited up and hopped in the driver’s seat of his truck. They headed down the road to find some clues for ending the war. They continued on the dusty path until the bomb hit. Flames and fumes of smoke erupted from the IED. His crew was safe from the bomb, but Dad was vulnerable. He was only protected by the thin carbon helmet that covered his head. As soon as the bomb detonated, Dad was ejected 400 feet from the vehicle. The blast was a wake up call for the rest of his squad. Dad died on impact. He suffered four broken ribs and serious head trauma. There was no way of saving him. That was it, Dad was gone.
After hours and hours of remembering Dad, I decided to start focusing on today. I strapped on my gear and took my position on top of the tank. We set out down the road, much like Dad did. We were placing traps on the Afghan side of the war. We drove for several miles. IEDs filled the roads. They reminded me of Dad. I heard a loud bang in the distance. Next thing I know, the sounds began to creep closer and closer as we neared them. One hit. It hit me. I was ejected 200 feet from the vehicle. I looked down as I hit the ground. My left leg was gone from two inches or so above my knee. I fell into shock. My crew managed to survive with minor injuries, but my fate was in God's hands.
I didn’t remember much after the blast. I tried to forget everything, but it seemed impossible. I tried my best not to look down at my leg, or what was left of it. I thought of my future and how I may never be able to walk to the mailbox with my kids or kick a soccer ball back and forth. I was crushed. I did my best to stay positive and think on the bright side.

I was immediately flown to the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. I struggled to even breathe due to the amount of blood gaping from my left leg. The medics were amazing. They supported me through every mile of the plane ride. The bleeding soon came to a halt as I arrived in Bethesda, Maryland. I was flooded by doctors, nurses, and many other medical professionals. They stared in awe at my leg. I knew I was going to be okay. I knew I was going to see Grace again.

I was taken into surgery for the amputation of my leg. I woke up and looked down, only to see the blanket underneath me. I could no longer see my toes or ankle, not even the scar on my shin from when I fell off of my bike as a child. My leg was gone, but my life was not.

Life at the hospital was the same each day. I woke up, ate breakfast, went to physical therapy, ate lunch, went to physical therapy, and so on. It reminded me of Afghanistan. Each day was the same as the one before. I tried not to think too much about Grace. Each time I did, it made me think of the blast. All I did was pray. I prayed for Grace, my troop, and Dad. I wrote to Grace every once in awhile just to check in. I felt like I needed her today. I don’t know why, I just did. I grabbed my pen and wrote:


Dear Grace,


I have been hit, if you didn’t know. I was hit by an IED 24 days ago. My leg is gone from three inches above my knee.

I miss you. Write back soon. Be safe my dear, and don’t let the world bring you down.



Love,

James


Even though I would write to her, this was the first time I mentioned the blast. I wanted her to know, but I didn’t want her to worry. It was hard for me to write knowing that I was safe in Bethesda and she was out there on the battlefield.



Two months passed. I never heard back from Grace. I trusted that she was okay, but nothing was certain. I began to worry about her.



I soon began to walk. I was fitted for a prosthetic about a week ago. I was so happy to be up on my feet and away from the wheelchair. I took a walk down to the front desk. I asked if I had any mail. The response was “no”. I sulked back to my room, but was interrupted by a loud voice. Could it be Grace? No, it wasn’t, it was the lady from the front desk. She found a letter to me from Grace L. Taylor. The return address was to Bethesda, Maryland. I thought it was rather peculiar that Grace was in the same town that I was.

I tried not to get my hopes up too much. I returned back to my room and read the letter.
Dear James,


I was hit too.


Love,

Grace

That was all it said. I wondered where she was hit, but I knew she was alive. Nothing mattered more to me than seeing her beautiful face again. I knew it would happen sometime.
Life went on in the hospital, but I hoped I would return home soon. I soon got tired of gazing out the same window that overlooked Easton Street. There was so much hatred on that street. Cars honked with impatience and kids cried when they had to leave the park. I couldn’t stand to see another child cry or another person feud. It reminded me too much of Afghanistan. I needed a break. I rolled over to the other side of my bed. I looked down the hall and saw the light. It wasn’t just the ordinary hospital light, it was Grace’s light. She was here. She was here with me. I immediately strapped on my leg and hopped down the hall. I saw her. I saw Grace.
It was the first time we had ever spoke. We greeted each other with the same anxious, but comforting smile.
“Hello, my name is James.”
“Hello, I’m Grace.”


I was so nervous. I looked up at her face. It was gone. Bruises and scars covered each and every beautiful space I saw back at camp. She was burned. I knew I would never be able to see her eyes that carried the mountain breeze, or her smile that could change the world. I still knew it was there. I may never see her natural beauty ever again, but the light she brings to the world will never dim.



…
Dear Dad,

Grace and I made it after being hit by IEDs ages ago. I never wanted to tell you because it didn’t want to disappoint you. I know you died on the same frontier. The army crushed our family,but somehow was the reason I met Grace. I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Dad. I had to make a change in the world like you did, and I think I was successful. I never knew if the army was right for be at the time I saw the ad. I thought it was pure insanity. I thought it was a joke. But I can assure you, God gave me this opportunity because of you. God wanted me to meet Grace. She lights up my world, she truly does.
Grace is my hero, she is the reason I made it through the blast. I kept thinking about her and how we couldn’t do anything without each other. She was burned in Afghanistan. I will never see her face again, but the light she brings to the world will always be there behind the scars and gashes. Each one told a story of our love.
Grace and I are the parents of two grateful sons, Grayson and Jamison. They are grown up now. Grayson wants to go to Camp Eggers. Jamison does too. I won’t stop them. The army was my saving grace, maybe it will be theirs' too. Living with an amputee isn’t the easiest, but my boys managed to make it out okay. I never realized how lucky I was to survive. I was a miracle.
Grace and I love each other to death. The world has changed, but our love for each other will never fade. Her internal beauty changes each and every person who walks by. I wish you could have met her, she is truly a wonder. Grace is the most beautiful and happy person I have ever met. Grace and I managed to make it through thick and thin together. No matter the pain or sorrow, we would prevail. We have been together for 40 years, and we will not separate now.


Love always and forever,


James