She’s been stuck in the baby’s room. In her arms is a small bundle, crying quietly against the storm raging outside. He hasn’t stopped all day, and she’s tired. In the living room across the house, she can hear the chatter of her children, twins at the age of nine, her brother, and her parents, There’s someone missing from the table besides her and the baby. Everyone is waiting for him, patiently. She can feel it.
It’s Thanksgiving. Delicious smells of mashed potatoes, corn, stuffing, and applewood smoked turkey fill her nose. She knows the baby can smell it too. With each pause of his cries, she can see the wonder and curiosity in his perfect green eyes caressed by long lashes. He’s as pretty as his father is; she thinks it all the time since the birth three months ago that he missed.
She knows it isn’t his fault, but is still sad about it anyways. There’s nothing either of them could do about it. Silently, she listens to the happy chatter in the living room as she rocks the boy. They’re hiding their impatience well. Her parents know how she’s feeling, as does her brother. At the young age of 30, his departure stung her like a fresh wound, no matter how long it’s been. He’s never been off of her mind.
All of a sudden, she hears the door. The talking stops immediately. Even the baby has stopped crying, as if knowing who came in. Heaving a sigh, she bends over to place him in the crib when she hears a scream. Alarmed now, she rushes out toward the others. She’s cut off by the sight before her. His hair is still wet from the storm outside, but the drops only accentuate his beauty. His uniform is soaked as well, but her twins don’t seem to care at all with the way they cling to him with shouts of joy. Their eyes meet, green against blue, and she smiles genuinely for the first time in a long while. He’s home, he’s safe. The war didn’t get him. Her husband is home.
Years have aged them well. The twins, both 26, have graduated from college. One has a degree in microbiology and has moved to Ohio to chase his dream job while the other has pursued criminal profiling and has stayed near home. She resides in a big city now. The baby is 17 and has just graduated high school with magnificent marks. He always strived to impress his parents, who were always proud of him no matter what. He’s taken some time off, but now it’s Thanksgiving, and he thinks it’s about time for him to follow his own passion.
His mother is proud, yet tearful. She’s thankful, but concerned. His father understands. His son can feel the same urge he did when he was his age, the same duty. It’s hard on both his parents to watch him go, but they know they can’t stop him. The group is by the train station. He’s packed whatever he thinks he needs, including two pictures: one of him and his parents as well as one of him and his girlfriend. She’s there as well, and she’s already got tears in her eyes.
He takes another look at those gathered to see him off. He has to make it back, for them and for her. But there were bombs, snipers, all of the sort. Missiles rain down on them. If he got out of there, these times would surely haunt him for the rest of his life. He watches his best friend fall, the one he bunked with, spent all of boot camp with, at with, and wrestled with. He couldn’t do anything about it except scream and keep on. It seemed in vain, however. He tries his best, but there was too many of them. Surrounded. He glances up at the sky. He didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving.
Thank you to all our active servicing men and all of our veterans for fighting to keep us safe. For giving up everything to keep this country on its feet.
