I'm sitting at your grave alone. It’s windy, but the blue sky is clear and a ¾ moon is rising just above the tree line. You've been here for almost 4 months now and the spot where you are buried is still sandy and slightly raised. A few shoots of Bermuda grass are starting to cross the bare patch. Cows occasionally bellow in the distance. It's probably near feeding time.

I put a flag by your marker for Veterans Day. And after a toast or two, poured a bottle of your favorite whisky on the dirt. It was 33 years ago today that we married - I have the picture here, (and 23 years ago we divorced).

I brought these pictures of the kids when they were little, and the emails J. sent from Baghdad. You should have been talking to him. You should have answered his letter.

Our boys are the best thing we ever did together. Because of them, despite all the pain and trouble and mistakes, I would never wish the past away. I'm sorry for not understanding you better. Even though I blamed you for (almost) all the horrible times we went through, it's clear that my own immaturity and short-comings were a big part of our problems.

But, now I'm here and you're not. There was a time I'd have said, "He had it coming". But I wish you were at home getting well, sitting with your wife and mother, and encouraging your kids.

Damn it! You should still be alive. You would only be 60 years old next month.

Your kids miss you.