The Letter

January 20, 2009

Dear Mom,

Sorry I haven't written in so long. I don't really have an excuse; you just know I suck at writing letters. I could tell you it's because I can't think of anything positive to say, and I know you worry enough as it is. And while that's partly true, I know it's a cop-out. Sometimes it's just hard to get the words out. Hard to think of home. Hell, sometimes it's hard to remember home.

Mom, I laid in my bunk last night thinking about the last few days. Somehow my mind drifted back to when I was a kid and Johnny and I would play soldier. You remember Johnny -- lived across from Old Man Wilkerson. I realized then, that I'm actually living those "dreams" we had. Dreams of being soldiers, seeing bombs go off, fighting the bad guys. It almost made me laugh, but not in a good way. What do they call it? Irony? Something like that.

Anyway, I started thinking about how Johnny and I played it all wrong. I don't ever remember playing about trying to dig a body out from the rubble and discovering it's only a leg. We never talked about the smell of human flesh burning. Winning with us was if we survived. I don't mean to scare you, Mom. But sometimes when I look around and see the death, I feel like I'm the one that has been cheated, that I've lost.

I'm so sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear from me. But I had to get it out. And you can't talk about it around here. It's not a macho thing. It's more of an honor code. I am proud to serve my country, but between you and me I wish there could've been a different way. Death is death no matter what country you live in. The empty look in their eyes is the same no matter who is holding the gun.

Well, I gotta try to get some shut-eye. I do love you, Mom. You're always in my thoughts. You and those chicken and dumplings of yours. It'll be alright. I'll be home soon. I promise, Mom.

Forever your son,

Nathan