02-16-2008, 10:37 PM
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New Member
Posts: 15
Join Date: Feb 2008
Location: Tenneseee
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The Visit
The Visit I was there to welcome him home. Stood by my mom with her huge welcome home poster she’d worked on for days. My brother had been gone for nine months, and was coming home for a long anticipated two week visit. We stood at the airport forever it seemed, Atlanta was fogged in, and the plane was delayed for over an hour. Mom could not seem to stand still; Dad was looking for a place to sit. I was bored with the wait, but eager to see him again. I wondered how much he’d changed, or if he’d be just the same as always. He’s four years older than me. I wanted to spend time with him as an adult, and not just a younger brother. I was sixteen then, and hopefully more of a friend and an equal, then a pesky younger sibling. Finally, his plane was on the ground and we watched for him to walk up the arrival ramp. Dozens of guys were coming up the concourse; all dressed very much alike. I caught sight of him first, but Mom darted to greet him ahead of me. She held him crying, and hugged him long and tight. He looked different. He was thinner, disheveled, and expressionless, even coming to greet us he wasn’t smiling. I had thought he’d look happier, that he should be excited to be home. Instead, he looked almost wary as he glanced around. I hung back a bit, not sure how to approach this stranger who was my brother. Then he shook my hand, and gave me one of those guy-hugs that convey all the emotion men don’t show. He says “Hey Joe, Whatcha doin standing around this boring airport all day?” I knew then he hadn’t changed so terribly much. My name is not Joe, it’s the nickname he gave me as a toddler, and I hated as an adolescent. He loves to embarrass me in public by calling me Joe. I didn’t really mind it this time. This time it felt right somehow to be called Joe. It felt normal, and I was thankful to have normal back finally. My brother was home for two weeks. Fourteen days filled with late night Nintendo contests, dozens of runs to fast food restaurants, and endless family get togethers. He had missed so much being away. We had a new cousin, Great Grandmother celebrated her 85th birthday, and Granddad’s health was failing badly. He tried to take it all in, in just two short weeks, but somehow still seemed to hold himself separate and apart from all the family excitement. He did not say much about where he’d been, or what he’d done and seen. Mom said not to ask him questions. Dad questioned him about everything. The truth came out in unexpected moments, when he let his guard down and let little things slip out. Like when we were looking for a game on his laptop, and flashed past a picture of a guy he worked with. “That’s Andrew,” he said, “he’s down in Texas learning to walk with his new legs.” Once, we were driving to meet some friends, and his tire threw a small rock up and it hit the undercarriage of his car. He jerked the wheel and stomped the gas, fishtailing until he got himself and the car, back under control. We pulled over off the road. “I’m sorry,” he said to me, “I thought for a second there we’d hit an IED (Improvised Explosive device) and I freaked out a bit.” He asked me not to tell our parents, he didn’t want them to worry. I wanted to explain to him that it didn’t matter what he told them, or kept bottled up inside. Our parents worried about him everyday, we all did, but I did not say anything. I watched him sleep on the couch that last night before he left to go back to Afghanistan. I sneaked a close look at the black bracelet he wore on his wrist and never took off. It’s engraved with the name of a squad mate and the date of the battle in which he died. I knew my brother had been there, right beside him when he quit breathing. Then I flipped through all the pictures on his laptop, and found the ones of the Humvee explosion where his friend lost his legs. I knew my brother had been there too, in the very next vehicle of the convoy. I saw the photo of him on a stretcher when he went “down” on a mission, and was flown by helicopter to a nearby field hospital. I saw him dressed in full battle gear and hardly recognized him. I saw him then, in person, sleeping on our couch. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I sat. I sat and I thought, and I tried not to think. My brother left yesterday to go back to work. I did not go to the airport to see him off. The rest of my family went and they couldn’t understand why I choose to stay home. I could not do the long goodbye, the millions of pictures and all the tears. I would not stand at the window waving like I’d never see him again. I could not do it. I was too afraid that indeed I may never see him again. My brother left yesterday to go back to war. I did not say goodbye.
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 VickiLife isn't about the amount of breaths that you take, it's about the moments that take your breath away! |
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02-17-2008, 08:13 AM
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#4 (permalink) | ||||||||
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New Member
Posts: 15
Join Date: Feb 2008
Location: Tenneseee
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Thanks...my son wrote it a couple years ago when his brother was deployed for the first time. I have to admit it did worry me a bit...his brother was home last oct on mid tour leave again, and my youngest (18 now) insisted on going to the airport with us this time. He never said why..just "Mom, i have to."
Thanks to all for keeping our military in your prayers. Vicki
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VickiLife isn't about the amount of breaths that you take, it's about the moments that take your breath away! |
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02-23-2008, 04:28 PM
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#7 (permalink) | ||||||||
Death's Nightmare
Posts: 825
Join Date: Jul 2007
Location: between reality and fantasy
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Very moving, your son has great writing abilities. I'll keep them both in my prayers. keep up the good posts!
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 "he didn't say anything about the penguins. Who knows, maybe Death slept with a teddy bear? Naw."-Guilty Pleasures, Anita Blake |
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