Widow's View
Colonel Henry Blake, "commander" of a M.A.S.H. unit. I sigh. Yes, he was a commander; yes, he cared about his men, and, yes, they'll go on…but he was coming home to ME. He was coming home to the life we'd built together. Now, here I am, wandering around in a house that has been filled with a flood of tears instead of new memories. I love him; I hate him…why did he have to die!
I hate this war, I hate the way it kills young men, middle aged fathers and anyone in between. They die heroes while our hearts break. Yet, somehow, somewhere, someday, I know I need to find a way to let go of that hate. Hate destroys; it's what took my Henry from me, from our family.
So I sit on our bed and I wonder…how many more "Henrys" have to die before the hate ends, before the survivors are returned to their families? "Oh Henry," my tears fall and, for a split second, I feel his arms around me and then he's gone.