You're the Inspiration!

Meet some of the brave young volunteers whose lives changed irrevocably at war.
"I really wanted to bring my new leg out tonight," said a wounded warrior (who'd had two legs blown off by an IED in Iraq) over dinner Saturday. "Man, that's something I never thought I'd say — but I have," said the Marine next to him, who is so proficient on his prosthetic leg he was dancing earlier that day.
Every American should have the privilege of knowing the caliber of Americans who go off to war to protect us. He's a Marine who nonchalantly gets up and walks around the table to cut his one-armed brother's steak for him. He's a Marine who with one arm closes and lifts his brother's wheelchair into a car. He's still strong — still stronger than I am, for sure — and no enemy's going to take that away from him if he has anything to say about it. He's a boy whose youth shocks you, who is minus a leg, who spent months in a coma, and who has three brothers who have signed up for the war effort in some way. He's Casey Owens, who so many of us saw salute the president on Inauguration Day, from his wheelchair, and who's probably the best spokesman for the war out there. On Saturday night, when a few Marines took the night off from Walter Reed for dinner and drinks at a happening Georgetown restaurant and bar, everyone wanted to know him — and thank him — and never forget him.
There are so many stories from this war that will never be told, individuals most Americans will never know about. He who had the top of his skull blown off — but he'll take his headaches because he is grateful to be alive.
These guys consider themselves the lucky ones, you see. They weren't killed.
Of course, we are the lucky ones — to have them.
There are so many stories we'll never know. And we'll never know their pain, or their struggles. Will a girl ever look at me again, except to think, "crip"? We'll never hear about all the wives who accept — whose strong early-20-something husbands are now confined to wheelchairs, or who will never hug their children with their own arms. We'll never know all the parents who can do nothing but watch what they feared would happen, fighting back tears of gratitude that their child is alive, however broken, or the boys who can no longer sleep the night because of the awful nightmares they have — recurring nightmares, one says, of seeing all of his brothers killed — "awful, awful dreams."
Over at Walter Reed Medical Center and Bethesda Naval Hospital are the faces of the good guys in the war on terror. These are the men who gave their blood and arms and legs and more — and are our treasures.
And then there are their angels: the men and women who quietly stop by for regular visits, bring them movies, take them out if they are able to leave their institutional life now and again. Angels make sure these red-blooded American boys find nice gals to hang out with for a few hours in a Georgetown bar — girls whose smiles alone will most likely do more for them, in some important sense, than a hospital ever can. Angels listen to their pain, encourage them. Some know this could one day be their kid, and that some angel will be helping him. There are also the brothers, who, having had time to get used to their new existence, push the newbies. They've been there and know what the new kids on the block need.
War is hell. But on the home front are stories untold about inspiring American heroes. Know they are out there. And know they did what they did for you.
And every time a bloviating politician says we shouldn't have gone into Iraq, pray these wounded warriors didn't hear it. I know I will. Because the last thing they need to be told is that their multi-limb donations were for naught. They weren't. And so many of us are grateful: Thank you and God's speed on your new legs and lease on life.

- Oh don't you just want to go out and give every single soldier out there a big jug and say thank you with all your heart? THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU TO OUR TROOPS. GOD BLESS YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jennifer