Free­dom. Yours, mine, ours. It belongs to us. It’s our God given right. Our free­dom thought-isn’t free-there is a price. As an Air Force wife I can give you a long list of the sac­ri­fices my hus­band and our fam­ily make on a daily basis so that he can serve. Serv­ing our coun­try is an honor and the sac­ri­fices we make we accept as part of the job.

I am mor­ti­fied, angered and sad­dened by the hor­rific events that occurred yes­ter­day at Ft. Hood. I don’t under­stand it. I never will.

photo: timesonline.co.uk

I’m also pissed off that it takes a fuck­ing tragedy to get peo­ple to pay atten­tion to our men and women serv­ing. All over Twit­ter and Face­book peo­ple are all “thank a solider”, blah, fuck­ing, blah. What they don’t real­ize is that they could have used their grat­i­tude and thanks, and atten­tion last week, last month, last year. I’m not pissed off at every­one, because I know of plenty of peo­ple who do appre­ci­ate our mil­i­tary who go out of their way to thank them. I’m not even really pissed off at the peo­ple who are blast­ing twit­ter with “God Bless the US Mil­i­tary” in a sea of car­ing now-because I do real­ize that they cared before-I’m just pissed.

What you may not real­ize is that our men and women appre­ci­ate a thank you-but they don’t need it. It makes them feel like a mil­lion bucks when com­plete strangers shake their hand and say thank you, but they don’t ask for it. They do their jobs because it’s in them to serve. They do their jobs because its an honor to serve. They do their jobs because they love the United States of Amer­ica and all that we as a united nation stand for. Our lib­er­ties, our rights, our…freedom.

I’m pretty sure how­ever that they didn’t think for one moment while doing their job-on a mil­i­tary instal­la­tion that one of their own would attack. It’s un-fucking-believable.

My son says reg­u­larly that he wants to be a “doc­tor and an air­man” like his daddy when he grows up-because his daddy helps peo­ple. My hus­band isn’t a doctor-but my son at the ripe old age of five years old under­stands that his daddy’s job helps peo­ple. His daddy’s job helps peo­ple. Peo­ple. Peo­ple all over the planet. Peo­ple for whom free­dom is a dream. Peo­ple who aren’t free. No my friends free­dom isn’t and never was free.

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