It’s been my experience that most soldiers would rather not talk about their war experiences. Soldiers like to say those who talk the most, experienced the least.

Servicemembers deal with war in their own ways. As a journalist, I’ve interviewed dozens of veterans about their war days. I’ve always found it ironic how little I know about my own family’s experiences. It’s just not something discussed much.

My dad and father-in-law rarely mention Vietnam. When I traveled to Vietnam on assignment a few years ago, it was a struggle for my father to open up about his time there. My sister never brings up her tours in Iraq, nor does my husband.

Perhaps that’s why I was thrown off guard last week after I e-mailed my husband an article on the deaths of six soldiers from his old unit. Over dinner that night I asked if he read the e-mail.

“I deleted it as soon as I saw the subject line,” he said.
I missed his not so subtle cue and plowed forward, telling him about the IED. 
“All those young soldiers from one company,” I said. “Can you imagine what it’s like to be that company commander’s wife back in the states comforting those grieving families?”

At that point my husband laid down his fork and covered his face with both hands. A few seconds later came an outpouring of grief that I’ve witnessed only in men at funerals. It was the first time I’d ever seen my husband overcome with such emotion. It surprised both of us.

Though we exchanged only a few words about Iraq that evening, I learned more about war in those few aching moments than I ever could from a book or news broadcast.
 
This past Sunday, another four soldiers from my husband’s old unit died in Iraq.
It was one piece of news I kept to myself.