Yesterday we marked Veterans Day here in the United States. Many people on Facebook shared images of their loved ones who had served (or are serving) in the Military. I joined in with a picture of my Grandpa. I really enjoyed seeing everyone's photos, thankful that those loved ones made it back when so many didn't. I shared a video of "Soldier's Poem" by the band Muse where the poster had added footage from the movie Band of Brothers. It's tough to watch. It reminded me of the time when Evan was probably not even six months old. Justin and I rented the movie "Saving Private Ryan." We generally skip Academy Award winners and nominees, because they always seem to be depressing. Somehow, this one made it through. We watched as the band of soldiers went to find this Private. All of his brothers had been killed in the war, and he was the only one left, and would be sent home. It takes place in those early days after D-Day invasion. It never occurred to me how dangerous and chaotic it must have been for the Allies. The little band lost one after another soldier. I am tender hearted in general, so this was tough for me. But the one that hurt the most was the dying soldier that was calling for his mom with his last breaths. "Mama, Mama, Mama," he cried. I muffled my sobs into a pillow so Justin wouldn't think I was nuts. After the movie I went upstairs to our bedroom. Evan was in the little cradle right next to the bed. I looked at that sweet face and cried and cried. I prayed that he would never have to go to war. I prayed that he would grow up and be a Daddy one day and a Grandpa. I prayed for a long life of happiness and joy. I prayed. And hoped. And kissed my son.