No waves of relief greet me upon my return home as I had anticipated. Instead of the exhilaration I had expected upon seeing my family, I only feel confusion. Why are they smiling? Why are they cheering? Why aren’t they sad? When I look up at the flags of my country, I do not feel the pride I once felt when signing up to fight.
Is that why they are cheering? Are they proud of their country? Proud of me? How could they ever be proud? I have murdered men. I have deliberately stolen another person’s life. Men with wives, children and friends back home. Who could be proud of that? How could any of these people feel pride? With my jaw tight and fists clenched, I endure the long walk through the crowds.
Once the parade ends, I find my family. I look into the eyes of my wife and find no comfort. I look down at the faces of my children and cannot smile. What kind of husband am I? What father could not be happy to see his children? And then it hits me; I can’t remember how to be happy.
I cannot be expected to return to the life I once lived. I am not that man anymore. I can’t pretend I am content in living this way. Whenever I look at my family I do not see their faces. I see the faces of the men I have murdered.
picture from: http://www.archives.gov/education/lessons/369th-infantry/images/famous-soldiers.gif
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