Death of a Friend

I heard a couple of days ago that a guy at a nearby FOB (Forward Operating Base) was killed in action, and, knowing that I have a lot of friends over here, asked for a name. The name I was told, at that time, was simply PFC Avery. Immediately, an alarm went off. I then began to look online for articles on who this particular Avery was and got a full name; Jeffrey A. Avery...more alarms. At this point, I still wasn't sure if this was the guy I knew and had hung out with in basic, so I needed a picture. Today, I finally got that picture, and, as it turned out, it was in fact, him.
I've been told that the loss of a friend in combat is a unique experience because we all come over here knowing not everyone is going back, wondering if it will be us, or the guy standing next to us. That statement is very true but what surprised me was that, other than being surprised and somewhat sad about it, it hasn't bothered me like I thought it would. Perhaps I'm still in shock, perhaps i've just been hardened to accept death as a daily part of life, I don't know. But what I do know is, well, nothing.
Nothing. Here, nothing matters; your dog back home, your car in the garage, or that fancy watch on your wrist. the only thing that does matter is everything. Everything being life itself in its rawest form, fighting, quite literally, for survival.
If you don't understand what I just wrote, you probably never will simply because you probably have a job where you sit behind a desk all day.
Some people say they run to live a healthy life. I say I run just to keep mine. If I don't, I die, or worse...I don't want to be the next beheading video.
I guess when it's all said and done that I have in fact learned something, that I do, in fact, know something; I want to live. Unfortunatly, I must first pass through hell.