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Early in the morning
still feeling the bitter pangs of a long, sleepless night,
the soldier looking in the mirror,
hopes to see the reflection of his inmost desire:
that this is just a dream and that he is home
with those whom he holds,
treasured faithfully in the depths of his heart.
Instead the mirror truthfully reflects the untainted reality.
He slowly, somberly, reverently puts on his hat
and sees the soldier called to serve and defend his country
and to spiritually guide his brothers and sisters
in the land that cradled civilization.

The table is surrounded
by a family: a wife, two sons, a mother
swallowing fear, pain, hope
as they eat their last breakfast together
for the rest of this long period of separation.
They share and they laugh and they smile
trying to dilute the pain,
trying to stall reality for these few minutes.
The soldier treasures this reassuring moment
with those whom he shares the moment with,
his greatest of treasures: his family.

Time stands still
the steady ticking of the clock is heard
but the time makes no sign of movement.
They stand in the room
holding hands, praying.
Tears gracefully flow like streams.
Streams of sadness,
Streams of hope.
The soldier hugs his son tightly.
"I love you," he says.
"You make me proud.
Continue singing and remember who you are.
You are an inspiration to me, my son."
He seals his comforting words with a kiss on the son's saddened cheek.
The second of the sons is soft spoken
but the soldier is very understanding
and very tenderly makes the same gesture as he did for his other son.

"Remember to have faith and stay strong, my son,
Just like I used to tell you when you were growing up as a little boy."
utters the soldier's mother
drowning in her very own deep stream of tears.
She gives him the tender kiss a mother could give a son,
her only son.
He motions towards his wife.
It seems as if she has been speared, stabbed
by the knife of bitter reality.
They hold onto each other.
They hope that they can stay forever
embracing.
He lets her go but continues embracing her in his heart.

The Soldier
with his bags walks out the door
wiping his last tear.
He embraces hope.
For this is his duty, his divine calling.
He goes off to defend his country
"Pro Deo et Patria,"
For God and Country
makes for a thumping chant,
a motivating cadence in his heart, soul, and mind
as he marches onward
to the land which cradled civilization
to spiritually lead
an army of one.

I love you dad! I pray God uses you to preach the word and to lead your fellow soldiers. It is truly your calling and I will miss you terribly.. Now let's march onward soldier; or this is the life that God has granted us to live. -- Eduardo