In the years since his son, Dylan, was killed in Iraq, I’ve had to fight against my own childhood trauma and the way I saw the world.

For years, I felt like my child’s death was a betrayal of the values I’d spent my life defending.

But in the last few years, as I’ve come to accept my son’s sacrifice, I have come to recognize how I’ve been living the wrong kind of life, one that has failed him, and his parents, and those he loved.

It’s been a long, exhausting journey.

At times, I’m overwhelmed by the emotions and sadness that still linger from Dylan’s death, even though I know that it won’t affect the rest of my life.

But it has given me a renewed sense of hope.

In the last year, I was able to reconnect with some of my close friends who helped me navigate this difficult period of my own.

And, as of late, I am finally beginning to understand why I used to feel so alone and disconnected from the world around me.

I have an appreciation for others and for what they can offer, and I feel a growing sense of self-awareness.

And yet, when I reflect on the sacrifices that my family and friends have made, it seems that they were all too little.

I can’t help but feel that I’ve never been good enough for them, and that my life has been a sacrifice that I have no right to make.

It seems so unfair to them, but I can no longer ignore their sacrifices, even as they are slowly fading away.

I was a single parent.

My son died in the war.

And for the last four years, my wife, our youngest child, has been in and out of hospitals, unable to get a regular job because her parents were unable to find work.

When I first started going to therapy for PTSD, it was the first time in my life that I felt I had any real connection with the people who were suffering from my mental illness.

But when I was in the midst of my illness, I didn’t have any connection with any of my family or friends.

So I felt lonely and lost.

My therapist, an ex-Marine and Army veteran, told me to come home, that she didn’t know how to cope with the burden of being alone.

I had my own family and a job.

My life was completely out of control.

I tried to take advantage of the situation.

But what I did wasn’t helping me.

And that was until I came home to my own story.

For months, I would spend time in therapy, just trying to get my life back together.

When you are in a relationship with someone who is so ill, it is hard to be present for them.

And when your family is so sick, it’s impossible to connect with them.

Therapy has become my only way of getting out of this crisis, and it is working.

But my therapist also had to admit that I needed help in the first place.

And so, for the first two years, she taught me about trauma and coping skills, and the importance of empathy.

And while I’m grateful for that, she also felt that there was a way to use her knowledge to help me find a connection to my parents and their struggle with PTSD.

She helped me learn how to connect to the people around me, to see their struggles in a new light.

I learned that my father and I have a unique perspective on the world and our own lives.

My father is a former Marine.

He served in Iraq and is currently stationed in Kuwait, serving as an intelligence officer.

When my mom came home from her deployment, she had never seen her husband in a combat zone.

He had never been to war.

He was a loving husband, a hard worker, and a loving father.

As a young child, my dad taught me how to be a good, loyal, loyal man.

He taught me that a good man will always put his family first.

So while my mom was devastated by her loss, I learned how to fight back, and what it meant to be loyal and true to him.

It was through this process that I began to see that my mother was not alone.

My dad’s story is one that resonates with me now.

He left the Marine Corps when he was 22, but he returned to serve in Iraq after I was born.

He and I served together for several years, and after that, he retired from the Army and came home.

I’m so grateful for his service, because I never wanted to see my mother go through what she did.

But I also have to admit I wasn’t always so sure of my father’s intentions when he enlisted in the Marines.

I don’t know what the Marine’s life was like, and yet I was sure that my dad was doing the right thing.

I think that my experience with my father taught me the importance and value of being loyal. And the