I walk beside my husband, my place I will not leave.
I must not talk or make a sound, for I'm not to be seen.
I have no thoughts that are my own, no opinions that are heard.
I am just a caretaker for one injured soldier.
His arm is gone, a finger too, God damn the EFP.
I can't forgive the tortured souls who placed the evil deed.
I leave the life I know behind to go be by his side.
I love him and I'll care for him until the end of time.
My flesh is free of cuts and scars, my limbs are all intact.
But my mind is overwhelmed, my dreams confirm the facts.
I wont forget the nights he cried and held my hand in pain.
The memories are part of me, they're etched into my brain.
Reporters come, reporters go, all asking the same questions.
How has J.R. coped with all the trauma and depression?
They turn to me and then they ask what I have come to dread;
You must be proud, but life has changed. Do you still love this man?
If my actions do not scream the truth then I am lost for words.
How could you ever doubt my love for my fearless soldier?
Don't bother asking if I have my job still back at home.
For who would want to hear my worries that you've now condoned.
I past a smile to my face and play the perfect wife.
America will watch and say, "They've overcome their strife."
My country does not see my pain or hear my cries for help.
For I am just a lowly wife who suffers by herself.