I am the mother of a
young man that went to
war. His war was with him
second to second for he lived in it. Mine was in my mind thinking about what he was doing. How he was
feeling. Most of all was he wounded and even dead.
There were
times it did seem very real to me. When speaking of sitting with his machine gun in the front of the bus in case of an ambush. It was as if I
felt the tension and fear of what might come or that he might have felt.
Life at home was not real at times because of where he was at. In order to stay alive I believe you needed to somehow close out those thoughts at times.
Then there were moments that he spoke of things and people that gave a feeling of being there for me. His stories were sometimes funny, sometimes sad and then very
painful along the way.
We had it hard before he left.My tear s fall on this paper because I miss that youngman that was. While hurting for the young ma n you became because of war.
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