“There are no curses.  This is just Afghanistan.” Watching Lone Survivor with Dh, when Marcus Luttrell, as portrayed by Mark Wahlberg, gives that line, there are audible snickers from all over the theater. This is, after all, a military town. And after I watched Hollywood re-tell me a very real story of Navy Seals at war, I was compelled by the courage and bravery and strength of spirit. I have no illusions. My husband is not American.  He’s not a Navy Seal. And this movie did not portray his experiences. It would be a gross exaggeration for me to say that it did.  The truth is, I will never see my husband’s war on the big screen.  I will never see the moments of camaraderie or danger or bravery or courage or boredom or anger or fear or pain.  And that’s ok.  I think I’m best not knowing. But sitting there after it ended, watching the people file out while Dh took it all in for a moment, one thing sat heavy on my heart. It’s been a long 12 years. I know because when the movie ended it took a long time to get up.  And when I did, I picked up my jacket from the back of the chair, then dropped it and hugged Dh just long enough that the people beside me waiting to file out had to be just a little uncomfortable. I know because Dh didn’t try to get me to stop, just  tucked my head under his chin and held on. I felt like my heart was full of stories but they will never need to be told. Because we are…