One fateful morning, I got a call from my daughter. She was so worried about me. Her voice travelled through my head to the memory of Papa and Mama.
It was many years ago. Mama worried a lot about Papa. Of getting shot or beheaded. Nightmares were her daily meals. But then, she heard what a good soldier he was; and there was a plaque on our wall. It read: “Officer of the year.” She found solace in that.
But Papa died in the war front. And Mama never got a chance to tell him goodbye.
I am a soldier.