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Description
For the soldiers who for us gave their lives,
For the wives who lay at home weeping,
For the children whose fathers never return,
To those who will be eternally sleeping.

Never did I ever think those words would be applying to me. He wasn't my father or my son but he was the person I held most dear in the world; my dearest, sweetest Harvey. I'd loved him ever since I met him, and perhaps that sounds a little clichéd to you, but it's true, never had I not loved him. Perhaps he sometimes annoyed me and we got into our little spats and fights but they blew by like feathers. He's gone and it hurts so much, it hurts all the more that he was meant to be coming back in a week. He's not gone.

For some reason though, I can't cry. I feel terrible and I can clearly tell I'm depressed but so far I haven't spilt any tears. It's like there's something wrong with me. Maybe I'm still in the process of pretending it's all a bad dream and I'm going to wake up and everything will be okay. Maybe it really is just a dream and everything will be okay once I wake up. I wandered the house, looking for things to do to try and distract myself from the thoughts I didn't want to entertain. The remains of a party littered the living room. A bitter smile crept onto my face as I picked up the tattered paper chains of my niece's birthday party. She was so happy that her uncle was coming home, what are we going to tell her now? Her excited smile on the day of her birthday when she found out Harvey was coming was going to be shattered with just a sentence, 'He's not coming back.' How could we do such a thing to a little girl? The happiness of the celebration seemed so long ago. Who would have guessed the tragedy that befell us? What tragedy? Who are you talking about?

I continued to wander the house of memories, the house that I had shared with him. 'He's gone.' kept floating round my mind as I aimlessly traversed the house. I looked up when I entered my bedroom. On the bed were still the stuffed toys of my childhood that I'd kept for the memories. I picked up my favourite, a stuffed, chestnut coloured pony. I picked it up and sniffed. After all these years it still smelled like lavender. It was my most treasured toy, not only because it had been a surprise gift for no occasion whatsoever, but because it was a toy that Harvey had spent all his money on getting. It may not have looked much, but the tiny luxury stuffed toy was far more than a ten year old should have been able to afford unless he'd been saving up for a long time.

I'd been nine when he gave it to me and it was the best thing I had ever received. When he gave it to me he said 'You've been looking upset ever since the teacher told you off about not finishing your homework, so I'll give you this. Cheer up and smile, you're not the same if you don't smile.' I knew he'd been saving up for ages to buy himself the new digimon trading cards but instead he bought me a stuffed toy just to cheer me up. I started to cry just because I was so happy that someone was thinking of me, but he simply got confused and started to panic that he had upset me in some way. And that made me laugh. He was so concerned about me that it was almost comical. But I was grateful. And I still am.

It was old now, just like me, but the feelings were still the same. The button eyes had fallen off long ago and the stitching was starting to come apart but it was still the same beloved toy. I slipped it into my pocket and wandered back down the stairs, my heart still heavy. People were moving throughout the house. Not just me. My parents had come to comfort and be comforted. They had loved Harvey too, and my older sister had come. They were sitting in the living room with cups of tea and biscuits quietly talking. My niece was staying over at her friend's house so that my sister could help me arrange the funeral. It felt unreal. I could hear them talking about the service, what music they should play, what sort of flowers would be best and who to invite. What are you talking about? He's still alive, you know.

I entered the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. My hands shook at I poured water into the mug and looked back at the kitchen table. Long ago Harvey and I had sat there together, eating dinner and chatting, before he went to war. One day after work I had come home to find most unusually, dinner waiting on the table. Harvey was sitting there, looking a little embarrassed and showed me dinner. It was a macaroni cheese, I think, like I'd taught him to make, but he'd considerably burned it and so it was a little difficult to distinguish exactly what it was. But I'd sat with him and together we ate it all, burnt sections, uncooked pasta, everything. We'd laughed about it afterwards, and after that incident he'd become considerably better at cooking. But now we'd never eat another meal together. He's going to come back, just you wait. He'll come back for you.

No he's not. He's not going to come back and I know it. Stop trying to convince me otherwise, or it's going to hurt again all the much later. Without knowing how it started tears began to well up. I cried. My tears finally spilled out of my eyes, over my hands and onto the ground as I wept for the spilled blood of my poor dead brother.

May the country you died for be ever protected,
May the people you save remember,
May the red poppy be worn as a sign of respect,
In the cold of every November.

Description
For the soldiers who for us gave their lives,
For the wives who lay at home weeping,
For the children whose fathers never return,
To those who will be eternally sleeping.

Never did I ever think those words would be applying to me. He wasn't my father or my son but he was the person I held most dear in the world; my dearest, sweetest Harvey. I'd loved him ever since I met him, and perhaps that sounds a little clichéd to you, but it's true, never had I not loved him. Perhaps he sometimes annoyed me and we got into our little spats and fights but they blew by like feathers. He's gone and it hurts so much, it hurts all the more that he was meant to be coming back in a week. He's not gone.

For some reason though, I can't cry. I feel terrible and I can clearly tell I'm depressed but so far I haven't spilt any tears. It's like there's something wrong with me. Maybe I'm still in the process of pretending it's all a bad dream and I'm going to wake up and everything will be okay. Maybe it really is just a dream and everything will be okay once I wake up. I wandered the house, looking for things to do to try and distract myself from the thoughts I didn't want to entertain. The remains of a party littered the living room. A bitter smile crept onto my face as I picked up the tattered paper chains of my niece's birthday party. She was so happy that her uncle was coming home, what are we going to tell her now? Her excited smile on the day of her birthday when she found out Harvey was coming was going to be shattered with just a sentence, 'He's not coming back.' How could we do such a thing to a little girl? The happiness of the celebration seemed so long ago. Who would have guessed the tragedy that befell us? What tragedy? Who are you talking about?

I continued to wander the house of memories, the house that I had shared with him. 'He's gone.' kept floating round my mind as I aimlessly traversed the house. I looked up when I entered my bedroom. On the bed were still the stuffed toys of my childhood that I'd kept for the memories. I picked up my favourite, a stuffed, chestnut coloured pony. I picked it up and sniffed. After all these years it still smelled like lavender. It was my most treasured toy, not only because it had been a surprise gift for no occasion whatsoever, but because it was a toy that Harvey had spent all his money on getting. It may not have looked much, but the tiny luxury stuffed toy was far more than a ten year old should have been able to afford unless he'd been saving up for a long time.

I'd been nine when he gave it to me and it was the best thing I had ever received. When he gave it to me he said 'You've been looking upset ever since the teacher told you off about not finishing your homework, so I'll give you this. Cheer up and smile, you're not the same if you don't smile.' I knew he'd been saving up for ages to buy himself the new digimon trading cards but instead he bought me a stuffed toy just to cheer me up. I started to cry just because I was so happy that someone was thinking of me, but he simply got confused and started to panic that he had upset me in some way. And that made me laugh. He was so concerned about me that it was almost comical. But I was grateful. And I still am.

It was old now, just like me, but the feelings were still the same. The button eyes had fallen off long ago and the stitching was starting to come apart but it was still the same beloved toy. I slipped it into my pocket and wandered back down the stairs, my heart still heavy. People were moving throughout the house. Not just me. My parents had come to comfort and be comforted. They had loved Harvey too, and my older sister had come. They were sitting in the living room with cups of tea and biscuits quietly talking. My niece was staying over at her friend's house so that my sister could help me arrange the funeral. It felt unreal. I could hear them talking about the service, what music they should play, what sort of flowers would be best and who to invite. What are you talking about? He's still alive, you know.

I entered the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. My hands shook at I poured water into the mug and looked back at the kitchen table. Long ago Harvey and I had sat there together, eating dinner and chatting, before he went to war. One day after work I had come home to find most unusually, dinner waiting on the table. Harvey was sitting there, looking a little embarrassed and showed me dinner. It was a macaroni cheese, I think, like I'd taught him to make, but he'd considerably burned it and so it was a little difficult to distinguish exactly what it was. But I'd sat with him and together we ate it all, burnt sections, uncooked pasta, everything. We'd laughed about it afterwards, and after that incident he'd become considerably better at cooking. But now we'd never eat another meal together. He's going to come back, just you wait. He'll come back for you.

No he's not. He's not going to come back and I know it. Stop trying to convince me otherwise, or it's going to hurt again all the much later. Without knowing how it started tears began to well up. I cried. My tears finally spilled out of my eyes, over my hands and onto the ground as I wept for the spilled blood of my poor dead brother.

May the country you died for be ever protected,
May the people you save remember,
May the red poppy be worn as a sign of respect,
In the cold of every November.