August 25, 1915 Diary Entry

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August 25, 1915 Diary Entry
Dear Diary,
Packing up and saying goodbye was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Looking back on that day when I said goodbye to my little girl and beautiful wife, I realized that that moment might be the last time I get to ever be in physical contact with them. The summer of 1914 was the start of World War 1. I was drafted into the war and soon shipped off to Europe. I met many people here on this trip, most of which have become family to me. We’ve trained together and stayed together almost anywhere we went.

I would’ve never imagined myself being in this life or death type of situation when I was growing up. I had made a promise to myself that I would have a family and be around and protect them like any good husband would. Every day I wake up, I pull the picture of my loved ones out of my bag and give it a big kiss. My troop gets mail every month, once a month which means that I get to write every month, once a month.

My troop doesn’t relocate that often unless we have to. Circumstances arrive where our shelter may be bombed, or we just need to move forward. I feel the most safe when I am moving, because I know that it is always harder to catch a moving target. In reality, all of us soldiers are targets. Fighting for our country is an honor, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t scared.

I’ve never respected anyone else in the war more besides my Sergeant Clark. The things that he has been through just give everyone that much more hope that everything will be okay in the end. Waking up each day in this world, to us, is a privilege. Our fate lies in the hands of our military smarts as well as our gut feelings.

Sergeant Clark led us through many trenches and fields and did his best to make sure that we not only got the job done, but left no men behind. But on every single trip, I couldn’t stop thinking about my family. I longed to hear my daughter’s voice and my wife’s touch. I would do anything to be with them. Who knows when this war is going to end? If fighting for my country will get me to see my family, then that’s what I’ll do.

I’ve decided to write in my diary today August 25, 1915, in case I do not make it, that somebody will retrieve this to see what us soldiers really go through. Surrounded by hundreds of men that are in the same situation as I am, I wonder sometimes if they are thinking about the same things as me. I see some people writing, but talking about personal lives back at home, really just isn’t what we do. It brings up way too many tears and memories and that can sometimes make you go crazy.

Bobby Joe was my best friend out here. He was about the only one that knew what I was talking about and feeling. The only difference is that he didn’t have a family back home. This was his family. I was his family. He was always telling me, “You and I are the perfect match out here. You’re my family, Kevin.” I just smiled and gave him a hug every time he said that. I never said it back though, and that is one of the biggest regrets I have.

Bobby Joe was killed 3 days ago while we were transferring locations. We were ambushed about a mile out from our destination. I knew from the first few shots that were fired, that my best friend was down. I ran back and tried to aide him to the best of my ability but I failed, and it felt as though a bullet had went through my heart. My memories run back trough that first day in training where we met, and knew we were going to be best buddies through everything. Just like losing a relative, I have never been more heartbroken. He WAS my family out here. After that day, I’m not sure how much longer I can take it here.

The loneliness grows fonder each day, and I am desperate to see my family. I know Bobby Joe will watch over me in heaven to get me to see my family, I would do the same for him. So for my last entry, today I say to the president of the United States of America, “Please send our troops home.”





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