A picture that my sister sent me. A picture that is making me cry at stoplights. A picture of my nephews, in the arms of a soldier that they love the last time he was home.
He comes home again tomorrow. For the last time, he comes home. The route home will be the same, but everything will be different.
The cries at the airport won't be of joy. There won't be running to him, laughter and sunshine painting the way into his open arms.
The same people will be there as the last time he arrived home. They might even wear the same shirts they wore when he stepped off the plane. The shirts they made by hand, the shirts that read, "My Hero". Except instead when those same people greet him, they will be greeting a casket.
So this week, instead of words, I'm going to post you pictures.
Here are the first 1,000 words: