He Won't Be Coming Home

It had been a little over a week, and I still hadn't heard form Matt. I was almost fearing the worst for him, playing it over in my head, preparing myself for a stark white envelope from an Army superior telling me of the tragedy that had struck. It was horrible to have such a grim outlook on my husband's fate, but after so long - even though it was just a week - paranoia starts to set in and all hopes are literally lost. I tried not thinking about it, but that didn't really work, because trying not to think about it meant I was still essentially thinking about it, and it all just went in circles from there.

I knew that I couldn't stress myself too much because it would be harmful to my baby, and I really tried to stay calm, but some nights I would just wake up in hysterics anyways. My dreams were haunted by visions of Matt and the war and what could have been happening to him, my mind making up horrible things that I prayed to God weren't true. It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape anything. I just wanted someone else's life for a day, to prove to myself that the world wasn't complete shit for everyone.

I was sat on the couch in front of the television as CNN played before me. I had already begun to feel the emotions of pregnancy, being two months into it already - still barely showing but enough in other aspects to make a difference.

I knew I shouldn't watch any of the war coverage on TV because it would only make me so distraught, but whenever I was flipping through channels and I passed the news and saw pictures of the war, I would go back and stay at that channel. I didn't know why. Maybe because it was the closest I could get to Matt at that point besides his letters. The letters that were becoming more few and far between as time wore on. I knew it wasn't his fault, but the absence of him seemed to feel more like it was lasting forever than just two and a half months when I didn't hear from him.

"Jay?" I heard called from the doorway. I looked up and saw Brian standing there. I wiped away my tears quickly, knowing it wouldn't change the fact that he'd still seen them. He looked over at the TV and sighed, walking to it. "Jay, you know you shouldn't be watching that. It'll only get you more worked up than you already are, and we don't need that," he scolded lightly as he switched the TV off and came to sit next to me. "Is this what you do every day while Alex is at school?" he asked. I didn't answer or even acknowledge the question. "Jayvee, it's not healthy. I know it's hard for you but you need to just pretend that everything is going to be okay. You don't want Alex to see you like this, do you?" I shook my head no. No, I didn't want Alex to see his mother was a broken down wreck without his father. I didn't want Alex to think I wasn't a strong person.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Brian then asked, reaching into his back pocket.

"I was sick this morning," I monotonously answered, and he nodded his head knowingly. He finally pulled a folded white envelope from his pocket and handed it to me.

"This was in your mailbox. I took the liberty in bringing it to you."

I nodded once more and looked at the front. Instantly, a small smile came to me; it was from Matt. Things were going to be okay.

Dear Jayvee,

I'm terribly sorry I haven't written to you. I've been constantly beating myself up over it. But, circumstances being what they were, it would have been hard to even hold a pen in my hand.

I've been in the base camp hospital for the past week. Before you get to worrying too much, I'll let you know that I'm fine - I just needed a few stitches in my leg. A few mortars went off on base and I was near one of the explosions. A chunk of metal sliced me open, but other than that I'm fine. Much worse could have happened to me.

I feel like I'm going crazy, Jay. I see things I shouldn't. Things that aren't there. People back home... you, Alex... Everywhere. And then I blink or turn my head and whatever was there vanishes, like a mirage. I even feel a physical illness in my head, like a deterioration of sorts. I'm sick, Jay. I can feel it.

I keep waking up night after night here in the hospital ward, soaked with sweat. I have the same dream every time, and its one that disturbs me, possibly even more than anything I've done or seen over here. I'm with my assigned troop and we're searching for people. No one in particular, but all the streets, all the buildings... the entire city is empty. We're just looking to fight. And then a little boy with a gun steps forward, and everything falls away til it's just me and this little boy. And then something in me snaps and I slam every round of bullets in my gun into his body until he does. And then the little boy turns into Alex, our Alex, and I realize I've killed him and I sit there and cry. It always seems so real and when I wake up I feel relief knowing where I am. It's slowly killing me inside and I don't know how much more of this I can take before nothing of a man is left of me. I wasn't made for the Army, I'm just not that kind of guy. I need to come home, and I can't. They don't understand that men over here with mental instabilities aren't going to last very long.

I was just thinking of another soldier I knew who was in here with me until the other day. He went insane and shot himself in the head in the central square of Baghdad because he couldn't take it anymore. I'm afraid of the same thing happening to me.

Now as I write this, I'm sitting awake in the dark with nothing but a flashlight and a man snoring on the other end of the room. I can't sleep because of that dream. I had it tonight, and now I'm just waiting for a nurse to come by and drug me so I can sleep for a few hours in peace. I'm afraid of waking up screaming. That's what my neighbor did before going off the deep end. It was horrible.

I'm sorry if all of this has depressed you, but there's no one else I can really share this with. I'd go to Zacky, but his attitude is finally heading upward, and I don't want to ruin that for him by burdening him with my troubles. You're my last hope for sanity.

Wish Alex a Happy Birthday for me. It's today where I am, but I know this won't get to you until a few days after. It's good to hear that he and Brian are getting on well. I just wish I could be there for it all. I don't want to miss out on my son growing up. He's already eight, and I've missed enough as it is. I'm going to come home to him being four inches taller at this rate.

I miss you baby, I really do. I don't want you to stress yourself over me. It's too much for you and for the baby. You're... two months along now, if I've calculated that right. Trust me, I'm keeping track of it. But please, take it easy for me, okay? Don't work yourself up over little things or over anything really. I don't want to be the cause of any problems with this pregnancy. You've got enough on your plate already.

The sun has risen, and the nurses should be bringing breakfast around any minute now, so this will have to be cut short. I love you, and I miss you, and Im desperate to come home to you.

Love,

Matt

I was full-on sobbing by the time I folded up the letter. He was going through hell over there, in Iraq, and in his head. He was sick - Matt, the strongest person I had ever come to know -was mentally sick in the head. Things were getting desperate now.

"Are you okay?" I heard Brian ask from beside me. I coughed once and continued to cry, handing the folded sheets of the letter back to him.

"Read for yourself, Brian. He's sick, and he writes all those things to me and tells me not to worry? Everything is getting worse and worse, Brian. It's all going down."

"Shh, Jayvee," Brian said, pulling me into his arms. "Calm down sweetie, I don't need you getting sick yourself. Just take deep breaths and calm down," he coaxed, rocking me back and forth.

"I can't Brian. He's going to die there... He's going to die," I repeated, my words becoming less and less coherent. Brian just held me there in his arms for what felt like hours, and I must have fallen asleep because I woke up the next morning in my own bed, my cheeks still stained with tears.