When I finally found it in myself to stop crying, I grieved silently. My mother had no funeral it seemed for I did not see the obituary in the newspapers. It was a silent goodbye. There was no urn in the home to commemorate her and most of her items had been shuffled around. I was angry at my father, for not telling me. He showed not a shred of emotion and I wondered if he really loved her after all. Maybe it was the same as I and my father. He was my father in name, in legal papers, but he was not a man who raised me. I felt no love for him.
My father had enlisted me in the army, most likely to get me out of the way. He had pulled some strings I didn't know he had and I didn't question his decision, only choosing to accept it without a word of complaint. If joining the army would relieve any guilt I felt, it would be a welcomed relief. I left for the training site not two days later after receiving the letter. My father had not said a word of goodbye, but I had given him a hug and told him I loved him before climbing into the military truck that seemed so out of place on our quaint little street. I could've sworn there were tears in his eyes but I could not be too sure.
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