Wednesday, June 18, 2003
My brother called me at work this morning. It’s been over a month since I last heard his voice and I was overwhelmed to hear it today. He called me a couple of weeks ago at 6am at my apartment, but I had spent the night at Ahmad’s and unfortunately missed that call. Every day when I walk into my apartment and see the answering machine light blinking, I get a tinge of worry that he has called and for whatever reason, I have missed it. But today, I got to talk to him.
He was calling from a satellite phone somewhere inside of Baghdad. Knowing that I only have a few short moments to talk to him, I tried to ask as many questions as I could, questions that I know my parents would want the answers to. He only had 10 minutes to be on the phone with me and for most of it, the reception cut out and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. There is also a major delay on everything that I say to him so he has to pause in the conversation to wait for my response. It is frustrating and exciting and upsetting all at the same time.
In the last four months my brother has lost 22 pounds. He entered Baghdad weighing 173 and currently he is at 141. His skin is pasty white, but his hands are the darkest tan he has ever had! He is both physically and mentally exhausted. When I asked him how things were going with his men, he said, “We’ve lost a few in combat. But I’m still okay Joe. No need to worry.”
No need to worry? People are dying around you and I’m not supposed to be freaking out? I maintained as much composure as I could. I tried to be upbeat and I tried to sound as though everything with my life is fine. And comparatively, it is. As our conversation came to a close, something inside of me broke free. The tears started flowing out of my face as I realized that I wouldn’t be talking to him again for a while. He says he will try to call me on my birthday, but you never know. As I started crying, so did he and he kept saying over and over “I’ll be home soon. Be happy. I love you so much. Everything is fine.” My sobs began to take over and it took every ounce of strength in my body to give him an audible “I love you too.” I hung up the phone and left my office building. I walked up the street and crouched in a doorway to smoke a cigarette. Eventually I was able to get myself under control, but as I type this, I still feel this sadness sitting directly on top of my heart. A huge lump resting in my throat.
I have tried so hard to put Winfield out of my mind. My parents have let this thing take over their life and I refuse to do that. I can barely find the energy to get out of bed in the morning, much less sit around thinking about, worrying about, and missing my brother. He is everything to me, but I don’t have the emotional courage to focus on it. I have worked so hard to make the last month and a half of my life happy. Then a 10-minute talk with my brother turns my world upside down. Gotta put him out of mind, as much as I hate doing it.
I’m going to go get a drink of water and smoke another cigarette. Maybe say a prayer for him. Maybe shed one more tear in order to feel the release of all of this pent up sadness.
He was calling from a satellite phone somewhere inside of Baghdad. Knowing that I only have a few short moments to talk to him, I tried to ask as many questions as I could, questions that I know my parents would want the answers to. He only had 10 minutes to be on the phone with me and for most of it, the reception cut out and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. There is also a major delay on everything that I say to him so he has to pause in the conversation to wait for my response. It is frustrating and exciting and upsetting all at the same time.
In the last four months my brother has lost 22 pounds. He entered Baghdad weighing 173 and currently he is at 141. His skin is pasty white, but his hands are the darkest tan he has ever had! He is both physically and mentally exhausted. When I asked him how things were going with his men, he said, “We’ve lost a few in combat. But I’m still okay Joe. No need to worry.”
No need to worry? People are dying around you and I’m not supposed to be freaking out? I maintained as much composure as I could. I tried to be upbeat and I tried to sound as though everything with my life is fine. And comparatively, it is. As our conversation came to a close, something inside of me broke free. The tears started flowing out of my face as I realized that I wouldn’t be talking to him again for a while. He says he will try to call me on my birthday, but you never know. As I started crying, so did he and he kept saying over and over “I’ll be home soon. Be happy. I love you so much. Everything is fine.” My sobs began to take over and it took every ounce of strength in my body to give him an audible “I love you too.” I hung up the phone and left my office building. I walked up the street and crouched in a doorway to smoke a cigarette. Eventually I was able to get myself under control, but as I type this, I still feel this sadness sitting directly on top of my heart. A huge lump resting in my throat.
I have tried so hard to put Winfield out of my mind. My parents have let this thing take over their life and I refuse to do that. I can barely find the energy to get out of bed in the morning, much less sit around thinking about, worrying about, and missing my brother. He is everything to me, but I don’t have the emotional courage to focus on it. I have worked so hard to make the last month and a half of my life happy. Then a 10-minute talk with my brother turns my world upside down. Gotta put him out of mind, as much as I hate doing it.
I’m going to go get a drink of water and smoke another cigarette. Maybe say a prayer for him. Maybe shed one more tear in order to feel the release of all of this pent up sadness.
