A Journey Through Struggle: Part 3 Return To Me

I mentioned this series would be difficult. This poem was written when we were in a dark place. I am here to share my journey and my heart. This poem was never perfect, but it allowed me to release. It now allows me to show you reality for a combat vet and his family. I just cried reading it.

Return to Me

Maybe in another life I could find him there….

The man that came home was different, a thousand yard stare.

I see him in my dreams.

His smile and heart had me bursting at the seams.

The man I married was murdered in a land far away.

How I wish he could come home to stay.



Return to me my love.

Come to me, don’t make me push and shove.

Return to me my dear, come home to stay.

This is what I pray.


There once was a man who felt love in his heart.

His love for me was deep from the start.

Now before me sleeps a man who functions solely on logic and reason.

Nothing changes as we move day to day, season to season.

At first, I thought he was afraid to love me in an outward fashion.

Now I realize he does not have the capability for compassion.

Facts and logic, reason and planning.

His thoughts– a linear line spanning.


I somehow thought he would come around and love me like Grandpa loved Grandma for 51 years.

But reality is confirming my fears.

I know now that no matter what I try, he cannot let me in, there is no door.

But there was one there before.

Every day, I run headlong into the same wall.

I have never faltered and never stall.

I took that wall as a challenge, something I could beat.

But here today, I look on that wall with the pain of defeat.

Today, I leave flowers at that wall I have spent so much time trying to break away.

No longer can I pray and say:


Return to me my love.

Come to me, don’t make me push and shove.

Return to me my dear, come home to stay.

This is what I pray.


Today, I face defeat. Today I face reality.

No, this is not just a formality.

For my sake, I need to bury the husband I lost at war.


That man doesn’t exist, he is no more.

But for me there is no grave, no body to see.

It makes it harder to let go, but this must be.


That man doesn’t exist and it’s become unhealthy to pretend, to slam into a wall daily, begging for some feeling.

The pain of hitting that wall last time sent me reeling.

Part of me feels I need to burn his letters but they are the only reminder when times are tough.

They are my only feelings of passion when he is being rough.


Now I know he is not capable of anymore.

Now I know he does his best.

I will let God fill in the blanks for the rest.


I take the shovel and fill it with Mosul’s sand, burying a 20 year old man.

I don’t know why this is God’s plan

One shovel full brings me to my knees,

as it covers his uniform of tan and green.

I lean down and take another scoop, recalling the brightness in his eyes.

Now, I am something for him to easily tear down and despise.

In his hand I place the rock he carved with our initials.

He is gone, its official.


Shovel after shovel, scoop after scoop I cover him.

The sun begins to set, my heart begins to dim. This is the end, the end of him.


Maybe in another life…..I will find you there.

One more kiss, he’s in the ground, the 19 year old I left there.


Remember, you can help change the path of a combat veteran by donating to Veterans Community Response.










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