My Darkest Year

January 18, 2012
By Anonymous

I don’t remember it that well but the images are in my head. I was in kindergarten and my baby brother wasn’t even born yet. I was at home coloring in one of my books when our home phone rang. My mom, who was sitting on the couch, rushed up to answer it.
“Hello?”, she asked.
It was my aunt on the phone and by her tone from the phone, it was not good. I could barely hear what they were saying.
“Oh no!”, my mom said.
My mom went outside and sat on her big chair. I looked outside the window and saw her with her head down and hand over her face. I went outside to see if she was okay but she was crying. Many tears were streaming down her face and her eyes were puffy and red. She told me to go inside and play with my Power Rangers and so that’s what I did.
About twenty minutes later my mom came back inside and told me she had some news. She called down my sister who was upstairs and sat us both down on our red leather couch. Then she told us what had had to say. I don’t remember what exactly she said because her voice was muffled and she seemed to cry every time she was going to speak. Or maybe I didn’t know what exactly was going on because my sister ran back upstairs, crying in her room. I felt no emotions to what my mom had said because... well i guess i couldn't understand it.

For the next two months my house was silent, no one talked, laughed, smiled or did anything happy. Not even me, the naive one. We went to Texas for some reason to see my aunt, uncle, and the rest of my huge family. Everyone was in one room when we walked into my Aunt and Uncle’s house. Surprisingly they all fit into the living room. But besides that, all the women and girls were crying and the men had their heads down. We ate food before going to this special church service at my Aunt and Uncle’s church. My family and close friends all sat in the sanctuary as the pastor began the service. At the front by the altar was a huge box. The huge box had an even bigger American flag draped over it. Next to the box was a picture of my cousin, Dashiell, in his Marine uniform. He looked so intimidating in that picture that that image has stuck with me even to this very day. Every time i close my eyes to sleep I picture my cousin’s face. Now i understand why my family was mourning during that time, now i understand why they were silent for the last two months. When i was little back then i didn’t shed any tears because I was too naive to understand. Today, every time i think about it and him, it’s hard for me to hold them back...

The author's comments:
This is a true stoty

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