06/22/2025
An Open Letter. A Prayer.
I’ve been sitting here on my couch, reading the headlines about the recent strikes in Iran… and it’s brought up something I haven’t felt in a while—but something I’ll probably carry for the rest of my life.
Eighteen years ago, my 22-year-old husband was killed in Iraq. And even now, so many years later, after watching other people heal, after finding pieces of my own healing, after witnessing love and joy and resilience rise from the ashes—this kind of news still hits me in the gut.
Because I know what it means when conflict escalates. I know what it costs. I know what it feels like to get that knock. To lose your whole world in one moment.
And what breaks me now is thinking about anyone else having to go through that. About someone right now who doesn’t know yet that their person isn’t coming home. About all the fear, all the unraveling, all the years it takes just to be able to breathe again.
So no—I don’t know what’s coming. I don’t know what this will become. But I do know what war takes.
And tonight, my heart is with every single person who’s ever lost someone to it.
Who is sitting on their couch right now, reading these headlines, maybe feeling that old grief start to wake up.
Maybe holding their kids a little tighter. Maybe thinking of their husband, their wife, their brother, their best friend.
Maybe scared—just like I am—that someone else will have to live through what we’ve spent years trying to survive.
This isn’t a political post. This is a human one.
This is me saying: I see you. I remember. And I’m praying.
For peace.
For protection.
For wisdom.
For the ones we lost.
And for the ones who might be lost if we don’t choose a different way.
You’re not alone tonight. I’m with you.
—Taryn Davis
Founder, American Widow Project
