Coming Home

I am finally home. This is what I have been waiting for since I realized how difficult it actually was to fight in a war; although I would never admit it to anyone.

I arrived back at my home last night. It was cold and there was snow on my jacket. I could see some light shinning through the windows, illuminating the small rooms inside of the house. Walking in the front door had brought on an overwhelming combination of emotions. Everything was so familiar, and yet so foreign. The house was warm; I smelt soup cooking in the kitchen; and I heard my two sisters arguing in the family room. Everything was so different than what I had gotten used to while away. I saw my mother standing right in front of me, with a smile on her face, but tears in her eyes

“You’re here.” was all that my mum said to me.

I got the feeling that she was also too emotional to properly gather her thoughts. I didn’t want to let myself be weak: I am the man of the house now that my father is gone. Unfortunately, it was always harder to hide my emotions when talking to my mother. I felt myself tearing up.

I could tell the exact moment that my sisters realized who was at the door. Their conversation stopped abruptly, and they came running over. That helped me get my emotions in check. I had to be strong for them. Plus, they would not hesitate to tease me for crying. I barely had time to take off my boots and hang up my coat before they dragged me to the family room, and sat me down on the couch. Our family room is a small room next to the kitchen, with an old, beige couch; a small table; and a collection of games and cards. My young sisters immediately started enthusiastically filling me in on all that I had missed. They talked about how they were doing in school, what they got for their birthdays, and almost every other topic imaginable. They did not ask me about my life on the front lines, which I appreciated more than they would ever know. That night was filled with laughter and smiles, but there was a tension that no one was brave enough to mention. We could pretend that everything was perfect for at least one night. Dinner was nothing special, with all of the rationing, but it felt like a feast, and I was the guest of honour.

That night I had a dream about the war. I remembered all of the chaos and danger that I had to face. I dreamt of death and uncertainty. I could see people all around me suffering and dying. How terrifying! I woke up with a start and finally let myself cry. No one could see me there, I rationalized. I would be the only one to know about the weakness that is inside of me. As difficult as this was for me, I vowed that I would stay strong and happy for my family. I will have to go back to war in a week, but I am going to enjoy this while it lasts.