My eyes welled up because it’s difficult to write letters that you only want to be read if you die.

[Swede]

Here's Garry Trudeau's Sandbox,blogs from Iraq and Afghanistan.


My son,
Why this day was my last we’ll never know. Why I decided to write this letter is yet another enigma. But I believe there is a reason for it all, and I wanted you to know that I love you so much, buddy...

I have been wondering why I haven’t written this type of letter before. We all know mortality can strike us at any time. We can be the unwitting target of a drunk driver, our hearts can simply stop beating, or we can be diagnosed with cancer. I could have written them back home, in the long hours of the morning, when the sun vaults from the horizon and suburban America rouses itself with percolating coffeemakers and the dew-covered newspapers cover the lawns like dead animals. Each minute can be our last, no matter who or where we are -- it’s the human condition.

http://gocomics.typepad.com/the_sandbox/