Sometimes I forget that my life is "different." But in the face of a move and a visit to the National Infantry Museum last Saturday, I'm remembering.

Photo by Kristin Molinaro

When you first walk into the museum, you are invited to walk The Last One Hundred Yards, because "the last one hundred yards of any battle belong to the infantry." In the museum's hundred yards are images from the Revolutionary War to the present of our infantry soldiers doing their job. It made me cry. I was awed by these soldiers before me and all that they had sacrificed. I was proud of men and women who fight for freedom (for ourselves and for others). And halfway through, I stopped cold and looked at my husband, standing in the middle of all of that history and, literally, being a part of that history. He is one of those men. For that brief moment, my mind was able to wrap around that fact.

In the day to day and the moves and the TDYs and the deployments, I sometimes forget just what it is my husband does, just what it is he trains to do, just what it is he gives up. I sometimes forget that he is extraordinary.

No, this post has nothing to do with God or writing or anything else I usually put up for the world to read. But I wanted to say to my husband (and to every Soldier, Airman, Sailor, Marine, Guardsman... whatever the title) you are far from ordinary, and you are my hero.
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