When the Letter Comes
It has been a long sorrowful year with very little company. I decided to try and stop being so pitiful of myself and go out. As I was driving through town I stopped by the post office to see if there was any good news about my son. When I got there Journey at the front the desk said I had got something earlier that morning. When she gave me the letter I instantly knew who it was from, the army my son enlisted in. I decided I would read it when I returned home.
I had come to town to be happy and happy I will be. As I was walking to the car one of my one oldest friends, Jules, came over and asked me to have tea with her over lunch. I was delighted to say the least. She offered to give me a lift to her house, but I politely declined. As I was driving to her house I thought of how this conversation would go. We haven't seen each other in years.
Once I got to her house, it was as beautiful as I remembered. It had a glorious pale blue patio with screens to keep the bugs out. She let me in and we sat down at her elegantly engraved dining room table, which she said had been imported from a far away place. I thought she would be quite upset that I had left years ago, but she didn't show me an ounce of hostility.
She had just recently found out I came back. We talked for hours about both of our boys who were serving in the military. I told her I had recently got a letter from my son but haven't opened it. She said that her son had recently sent her a letter also. She asked if I would like to open mine with her. I was debating on opening it with her, but I decided that I needed to open by myself.
She decided she wanted me to hear her letter from her son. It said that the war was hard on many and he was no exception to the pain it caused. He had lost a lot of people from his unit and saw many people die whether they were a friend or not. He had gotten shot and was injured. He would get to come home early. He said he missed her dearly and couldn't wait to see her soon. She was crying by the end of it and I wished the letter from my son was like that, but without the horrible injury.
I would soon find out what my son had sent me when I returned to my peaceful home in the country. We bid our farewells and I was on my way with a promise that I would soon visit her. She wanted to come to my home next time since she has yet to see it. On my way home my fingers were itching with anticipation of what could be in the letter.
When I finally got home, I couldn't wait any longer so I grabbed my stuff and the letter and ran into the house. I sat in the living room by the round coffee table and opened the letter. When I first opened the letter and saw the typing instead of writing, I was curious considering my son had always sent handwritten letters.
Once I started reading I could feel myself slowly crumbling under the realization of what I had just read. I gently set down the letter and turned to look at the fire. It feels like just yesterday he was running around on the front lawn. He was so happy then. I turned back to the table and I cried and cried until I couldn't anymore.
There could be no way my son was dead. I wish he were still here. I wish I could say I loved you one more time. I wish I could have gotten one last letter. I held his funeral two days after I received the letter, and for the next two weeks all I felt was horrible grief. My friends came and visited me when they could and I would try to reserve my food so I wouldn't have to go into town and walk around while everyone's pitiful stares were on me as I walked by. I could feel their gazes burning holes in the back of my head and it made me very uncomfortable.
Slowly as the months went by I went back to doing the motions, but I was never really there. He was always on my mind. Everything I see reminds of him in one way or another. When I look at the tulips in the flowerbed on the outside of the windows, I remember him because those were his favorite as a child. When I walk past his bedroom, I always hope that we will walk out and ask me what's for breakfast, and I could pretend that this had all been a dream. I know I shouldn't be so foolish, but I can't help myself.
It had been three months when I got a knock on my door. As I grudgingly walked to the door after still being groggy since I woke up I happened to pass by the letter on the table that I didn't have the heart to move. I couldn't stop thinking about him and I don't ever want to. When I opened the door I expected to see one of the town's people coming by to give me their condolences, but what I didn't expect is to see one of my son's friends. He asked if he could come in and I let him.
We went to the kitchen and I asked if he wanted a drink. He respectfully declined and said he had a reason to be here. I was confused, so naturally I asked what he meant. He told me he knew of my son's passing. He also told me that he had a letter that my son had written before he was killed. I asked to see it. He then gently took a piece of paper out of his pocket, carefully unfolded it, handed it to me as if it would turn to dust with too much pressure on it and then he was on his way.
I went to the dining room and sat down right where I was when I read the last letter. I slowly looked down to the worn piece of paper in my hand afraid it would if disappear from my fingers like I had just imagined it. I would never see what my son had written to me. The letter reads " Dear, Mother You don't know how much I miss you. The war has been going on for a while, and everyday I can hear you in my head telling me to keep fighting. You are the reason I am fighting so hard. I want you to be safe and when I come back we will celebrate, but until then I can't wait until I see you again. Love, Elijah." I set the letter down and looked out the window at the birds.
In the tree by the side of the window was a birds nest. I could hear one baby bird chirping through the window. I watched as the mother pushed her baby out of the nest. It was free falling to the ground. Suddenly the wind caught under its tiny wings and it flew up and away. I couldn't help but feel like that was a message for me. It was loud and clear in my head that he is okay, wherever he is. Even knowing that, I still couldn't stop the sadness, so I let the memories that we shared together flood over and consume me.
