Every year, the tears come, the speaker calls “now boarding,” and he gets on a plane to enter the world of unknown and uncertainty. No one knows where exactly he is, what he is doing, and there is no way to contact him for days at a time. But when he comes home, he is finally normal for once. My uncle is in Afghanistan. And I believe in saying goodbye.
My uncle came home in July to take a family vacation. We went to Cape Cod, Massachusetts. When we were there we went to the beach, went shopping, and went to dinner. But I knew the days were counting down. I seemed to be the only one that would wanted the day to go on just a little bit longer, just a little more time with him. When the last day of the vacation came, the tears came and the car pulled away. Saying goodbye to him always has an impact on me; it’s just one more thing that I have to worry about. Will he be coming home? Will he get hurt? These are all questions that I ask my self when I hear about how the deaths in Afghanistan are on the rise. But saying goodbye is not always easy.
My uncle and I are very much alike. We get into arguments about what kind of cereal to buy, or what movie to watch. This can make some of the days unbearable. And I can remember myself thinking, when is he leaving? But when I do have to say goodbye, I cry not only because he is leaving, but because I have thought that I want him gone. But one day when he is gone, and he can’t come back from Afghanistan, or any other place he may be makes something inside me think, why didn’t you do this or that when he was standing right in front of you. But the past is the past, and the future is unknown.
I do wish that he was near, so that I could call him, and tell him how I miss him, and wish him well. The days I do talk to him on the phone, I have a huge list of everything I want to tell him. But it’s not the same. I believe in saying goodbye.
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