2,312

I still remember the first dead body I saw in Afghanistan. I was in Kandahar, a southern city located in a valley that was basically a desert. We got the call that a helicopter crashed and everyone was dead. People don’t typically survive helicopter crashes, they tend to fall from the sky like a rock. We all gathered on the runway, it was a short walk since I worked in the hangar on helicopters. Once on the runway, everyone lines up shoulder to shoulder in something called a “ramp ceremony.” As a way to pay respect to the fallen. It is not nearly as ceremonious as when a body is returned in a casket draped with an American flag. Most of the time it is just a body bag being wheeled off the tarmac. Whatever is left of the aircrew, whatever parts they could find.

Ceremonious or not, ramp ceremonies always made me feel something. A rarity the older I get. I never knew any of the pilots or aircrew that perished but I had surely seen them on base in passing. Walking to the showers, on the way back from the chow hall, waiting for them to finish their reps in the gym. We were all there together in one way or another. The only thing that kept any of us from feeling completely alone. Working 12 hours a day, 7 days a week in a country that you didn’t know. A culture you couldn’t possibly understand.

Before I got to Iraq and Afghanistan, I thought that maybe they didn’t even want us there. It wasn’t until I was there and I met the people who have lived there all their lives, got to know these people and realized they did want us there. Just like everyone else in the world, they desperately wanted a better life for the kids. Just knowing that helped me carry myself with a little more pride. They would share their food with me, laugh with me and we would treat each other like neighbors. At the end of the day, we’re all just human and when you carve away the cultural differences there isn’t much that separates us.

I made a lot of good friends over there. A few of them I talk to regularly. We went through some tough stuff together. From family problems, infidelity, home foreclosures and other disputes. We still managed to find a silver lining to get us through. Personally, I really enjoyed playing sports with my friends and the comradery that comes along with long working long hours and extended deployments. Playing cards like spades and poker. There aren't a lot of distractions either. No wives or kids, no commute, and not much in the way of technology. I'm a weird way it feels like camping. Sometimes I over romanticize my tours to Iraq and Afghanistan. I'm always thinking about the good times. The bad times will always haunt me, though. Running for your life, wondering if and when you're going to die. Feeling helpless and hopeless. Many of these feelings were very new to me and I am thankful I haven't felt many of them since then.

2,312 American men and women have died since the beginning of the Afghan war. I can’t help but wonder if it was worth it. It seems almost poetic that we would leave Afghanistan on the 4th of July. I wish we left it better than we found it. I hope we helped the Afghan people create a better life for their children, or our children, since we are neighbors after all.