Sunday, January 4, 2015

A Year and a Day

It's been three hours now since I opened the envelope.

Strangely, I don't feel as though I should die.

I don't feel anything at all.

The letter was short. Army efficient.

"Dear Mrs. Sinclair. I regret to inform you that your husband, Lieutenant Robert Sinclair, has been declared killed in action.

Having been missing since December 30, 1943, and no evidence of his survival having been found, it is my sad duty to bring you the news that Lieut. Sinclair died serving his country.

Rest assured in your hour of grief that your husband's sacrifice was not in vain. The cause of justice and freedom will prevail, and millions will be liberated from tyranny by the gallantry and selflessness of Lieut. Sinclair and the thousands of others who lie in eternal piece in the soft earth of France or the coral sands of the Pacific."

Bob would have been twenty-five years old in three weeks.

I should sleep.