The boots he wore

I took a picture of the boots my son wore when he came home. He had set them out on the porch. There they were, still dusty, worn. The tags were removed. I marveled at the flow of emotions I felt as I stood there looking at them. I posted the picture on my Facebook timeline, no comment. I didn't even have words.

Those boots had taken my son to many foreign countries. Through countless hours of training. On ships at sea, on dusty land.  In and out of MRAP's and other armored vehicles. They carried him and all his gear through dirt roads, villages and poppy fields.  I was struck by how fortunate we were that he returned, wearing both of them. When I look at this picture, my heart still aches. That is all.