🚨BREAKING: British veteran breaks down live on TV over state of the country:
"Rows and rows of white tombs for what? A country of today? No, I'm sorry. The sacrifice wasn't worth the result.
I fought for freedom, and it's darn-sight worse now than when I fought."
…there is no linear blueprint for grief. One day you’re collapsed on the floor crying out the name Jesus in between labored breaths. The next you’re playing with your children in the living room, surrounded by family photos, and feeling a rush of something you can only attempt to define as divinely planted and bittersweet joy as a smile breaks through on your face.
They say time heals. But love doesn’t ask to be healed. Love asks to be remembered. It’s humbling to realize that this magnitude of suffering didn’t steal my love for my husband. It amplified it. It crystallized it.
I carry my Charlie in every breath, in every ache, and in every quiet act of day to day living as I attempt to relearn what that rhythm will be.
And what I’ve realized through these past 30 days is the greater the suffering, the purer the love. And I have never loved him more than I do now.
Get married. Have children. More than you can afford. Fame, fortune, success, vacations, whatever it is you’re working for, I promise you, is MEANINGLESS compared to your family.
I told myself after Charlie’s murder that I wouldn’t read any of the comments celebrating, which we all knew would be forthcoming. But these comments have been so widespread and ubiquitous that you can’t avoid them if you try. And I’ve tried. I can’t unsee it now. I obviously knew that they wanted us dead but it’s worse than even I imagined.