Home Front

by Kristin Hannah

Sometimes holding on was all you could do.

Too young to have a beer but old enough to keep his head calm in battle and die for his country.

She looked away quickly, feeling sick. And ashamed. How could you live when you didn’t have the courage to look at your own body? The doctors and nurses seemed unconcerned with her cowardice. Repeatedly they’d told her it was normal to be squeamish and afraid, that it was normal to grieve for a lost limb. They assured her that someday she would be her old self again. Liars.

don’t receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us.

All I can see is tears. There’s something seriously wrong with me, and it’s not a missing leg. I’m being weak, falling into this pit of self-pity, and it embarrasses me, but I can’t help myself.

Then I heard the word: cancer. My mom cried more than I did. I was more worried about being different. I know you’re probably strong, because you’re in the army and all, but I wanted to make sure someone told you to be gentle with yourself. I wish I’d known that. It took me a long time. You think life will never be normal again, but it will.

“It’s not intentions that matter. It’s actions. My drill instructor used to say that all the time. We are what we do and say, not what we intend to.

Jolene knew better than to hand out some shiny bit of optimism. She understood now that some things had to be fought for to mean anything. There were journeys in life no one could take for you.