A mother’s love

My son. I love you and I always will and I am sorry.

Mother. I did it; and I wish I had not; and I am sorry for having done it.

We chose to go in. Weren't we warned? You knew the terms. You knew that if you crossed the threshold, you should abandon all hope. Yes, it's colder than a well digger. It does not matter what kind of warmth you start with, we were never supposed to leave. If we go back we lose everyone. "I do not allow you to go back. Grab your rucksack and march, soldier! " Ross would not even make any eye contact with Mark Jones at all. He bent down to grab his backpack and inched closer to his icy tomb. His biggest regret was being ready for this journey. All these years, he had worked very hard to get this very opportunity, this very kind of mission, one day to walk with his hero, Mark Jones. He spent every dollar and went to every training camp, rose above the ranks, to be that very same hero someday. Yet there he knelt, the cause of everybody on that mission having one less minute of an opportunity to defeat the great darkness. No one knew exactly what lay ahead. What they were all certain about was the impossibility of ever returning. No mission prior had ever taken on this form. When Ross had heard about what he was assigned to, he trembled. He looked around for his proud mother, who was in the crowd. But did not find her. He could not meet her eyes. She could see him, but he could not see her. Almost immediately, they ushered the soldiers through the tunnel, deliberately, not giving them the opportunity to bid farewell to their families. They pre-emptively requested all the families to write letters to the soldiers for the suicidal mission. The letters would be encouragement for the journey. The families wrote all in hopes that their loved ones would return. Giving Ross that letter now, would only further deteriorate his emotional state. Mark Jones had a way of pushing his men to the ultimate limit. He always knew how to bring them back from the brink. This time, he would require them to jump past the brink.

What? What do they mean? A mission of no return? Ross! Ross! Ross! Oh God. He doesn't see me. He can't hear me. I can see his face. He's scared to death. They're walking them out. Bring them back! No one else joined me. It was a group of 10 men. In a crowd of 5000 people. Of course they wouldn't understand what I'm going through. They're all proud of these men for giving up their lives so that we might live on. But that is my son! That is my son! No, bring him back! Let me hold him, one more time! I hadn't even realized I was kneeling in the middle of all those people. I cried there for hours. No one came to see about me. Of course they wouldn't. My only family. He was all I had left. Fighting for our community meant everything to him. But not this! It was too much! Suddenly it started to pour rain. I was numbed. Managed to get my bearings, it seemed everybody was looking at me. It's that kind of feeling you get when you need help, the kind of help nobody can give and they know it and you know it, but they wouldn't dare offer what they do not have. In your misery you almost feel bad for them, wishing you could help them help you. I went home. I would never see him again. I sat there for days, sometime weeping, sometimes still as a rock. What was the point of eating and caring for myself? I refuse it.