The Soldier's Journal

||Entry Thirteen||

December 8th, 1952

Eleanor isn't making me go to rehab, surprisingly. What's even more surprising, is that I asked her to help me. I want the help. I need the help. I don't have control, and I don't think I ever have. 

Maybe that was my way of making myself feel better about it all. Or maybe, at the time, I genuinely thought I had it under control. Any time I go see one of the doctors or to one of the meetings, Emily stays with our next-door neighbor, Clarence. He was in WW1 and WW2. He doesn't talk about any of it, so none of us ask. 

Edwin II is still movin' down here in the summer. The last time I saw him was Christmas of 1947. I hope I'm, better, if you will, by the time he moves in. Rebecca, Eleanor, Emily, and Edwin II deserve someone better than me, or at least who I am right now. Rebecca deserves a better son-in-law. Eleanor deserves a better husband. Emily and Edwin II deserve a better father. 

I can't help but think that it really should've been me, instead of Dagle. He was tryin' to help his family, meanwhile I was tryin' to get away from mine. I didn't have a family to go back home to, would it have really mattered to anyone if I was dead? Eleanor was doin' just fine raisin' Emily all on her own. Emily probably would've never even known I existed, it wouldn't have phased her. 

Edwin II wasn't allowed to see me until 1947, but if it would've been me instead of Dagle, he could've continued his life back up in Maryland. Granted, his mama ain't necessarily the best person on earth, but who's to say he wouldn't have still been able to make somethin' out of himself once he turned 18? Why was it Dagle, and not me? I didn't care if I lived or died, quite frankly, I still don't care all too much. 

Dagle would've told me to just shut up by now. Then we'd start jokin' about it. My god, I still can't believe he's really not here. I probably would've gotten my life together after the war, if Dagle was with me. We could've been roommates like some college kids or somethin'. 

I can't help but think about what my life would be like if he was still here. But I can't help but wish it was me instead of him. I wonder how his sister and his niece are doin'. I hope she got her life together. I'd like to reach out to her one day, but I don't think I can bring myself to do it.

I feel some type of guilt, knowin' that I was supposed to go out that day, instead of Dagle. It was supposed to be some boy with no family to care about him – not her brother. I'm not close with my brother or sisters, so I can't even begin to fully imagine what she must feel like. It's been years, and even I still can't get over it. I still dream about him. 

Some are good, and they almost feel real – like I'll wake up and see him at work tomorrow or somethin'. But some are just terrible, and graphic. I don't get much sleep at night. If I'm not seein' Dagle in some nightmare, then I'm seein' the faces of everyone I had to kill. I'm hearin' their screams. I hear their final words, if they were able to speak. I see the look on their faces, and I'll watch them take one, final breath. 

I know it was for good reason, and it saved many innocent people. But that was still a life. That was still a human, created by God, and yet I had to play God's role. The second I took their life, I was playin' God. I shouldn't be the one who decides when a person takes their last breath, but here I am. 

And, why am I here?

As always, 

– Edwin Myers