Over the last several months,we have cared for tens of thousands of liberated, but displaced civilians, and American and allied military prisoners of war. The malnutrition and diseases were a different battle we had to fight, always trying to beat the clock that threatened to steal their lives. I’ve heard stories from some other nurses and medics that sound like something you’d read in a fictional horror book. But the stories are true. I have observed wounds unlike any I have seen before, and I’ve had to accept that the emotional trauma inflicted on these battered souls may be permanent. The empty look in so many eyes, the anger, the longing to die so they wouldn’t have to remember what happened, has eaten away at my core. I want to take away their pain and nightmares, but the only way to do that would be to erase their memories. I can’t imagine how they will go on after living through this nightmare, but God willing, they will find strength. I’ve lost count of how many liberated Jews I’ve treated and for each set of eyes staring back at me, I see a mirroring reflection of myself—a Jewish woman, lucky enough to have been born in the United States which is the only reason I was not sitting beside them in cell blocks, starving, disease-ridden, receiving torture, or facing a slaughtering. I don’t understand how people can be so cruel, or how any of us can move on after what we’ve seen, but we must so we can share what we’ve learned and pray that it never happens again.
The war seems as though it is coming to an end here, but the scars of those I’m leaving behind will last long after we are gone. The agony these innocent people endured will haunt me forever, but I will always be grateful that I helped them, even if it was in the smallest way.
My heart aches as I approach the end of my time here, but a part of me will remain in these cold, unforgiving woods, wishing I could have done more, but feeling a sense of confidence and honor knowing I did all I could.
My purpose seems clear now—something I pondered most of my life. For everything I’ve witnessed, and the part of my soul I’ve lost, I learned firsthand, after being painfully close to something I knew nothing about, that there’s no room in this world for intolerance or hatred. Nobody wins when there is a war. We’re all one, and no matter how trying life can be, fighting is never the answer, but being willing to lend a hand to help one another, is. That’s what I needed to do on my journey to self-fulfillment. I succeeded.
Now, we’re going home. Home feels like it has too many meanings to comprehend. I wasn’t sure I’d make it to this day. As I prepare to travel back to my home, I hope to instill a sense of pride and teach others about the difference one person’s hands can make.
49
July 1945
US soil.Did I walk away from a world on pause, or did three years of my life slip by without me knowing?
During my flights back to the states, I had more time on my hands than I would have liked, and in the quiet moments when people were napping, I lied awake, pondering how I managed to walk through flying bullets without one taking me down. I don’t understand why, even though I may be a little ragged around the edges, I’m in perfect physical condition while other lives are being mourned. Why is one life chosen over another? It’s a question I don’t think I will ever have an answer to.
I wonder if I will face a punishment for my actions that some are calling heroic. I shot a man—killed him, but I saved thousands. Will my conduct shift the balance of Everett’s future? It’s a foolish way to look at life, but when I think back to every stop along the way over the last three years, I question if it was a lesson in the form of a nightmare. It seems unthinkable as I look back on it—something a mind could never conjure, yet it’s branded into the faint lines on my forehead and in the corners of my weak smile while I try to comprehend that I’m going home.
I don’t know who is aware of my homecoming because there wasn’t enough time between finding out I was heading back to the states and sending a letter to let Dad know I’m on my way. I haven’t hugged him in three years. I haven’t seen James, and Lewis—I don’t know where he is, or if he is still okay. Our last hug was when he told me Everett was still alive. I fear going home to a barren world resembling the crumbling ash-covered existence I left behind.
Still, I straighten my cap and collar and walk eloquently out of the airport terminal. As if someone silenced the sound of revolving life during the time I was gone, it restarts with a scratch on a record, growing in volume—in the form of conversation, laughter, and reminiscing cheers. I search through the crowd for a familiar face without knowing what to expect.
My steps feel long and drawn out as I part my way through groups of people and a world I’m about to rejoin, but when I see his face, a sense of warmth and comfort fills every fiber in my body.
This moment reminds me of the time I had the stomach bug in grade school, and the teacher sent me to the nurse’s office to wait for someone to come pick me up. I had never felt so sick, and I was scared, counting down the minutes until someone would come tell me I would be okay. I wasn’t expecting to see Dad walk into the school that day. Mom was usually the one who would have to come to my rescue if I needed to go home early. But there he was, sharp as ever in his uniform, bearing a smile that made me forget about the discomfort traveling through my body. I cried at the sight of him for reasons I still don’t understand. I just needed him, as a little girl—I needed my dad to make me all better. The moment his arms were around me and he placed a kiss on the top of my head, I knew I was okay.
My chin quivers as I see the man walking toward his little girl with a smile full of pride and his arms open just for me. Neither of us can speak. Again, words aren’t necessary because his embrace is everything the little girl in me needs right now. For the first time in years, I know I’m going to be okay. His love says it all.
It’s minutes before each of us can compose ourselves enough to speak. “I went to bed so many nights wondering if I had taught you well enough to survive in a war that I never expected you to be a part of. It was my job to keep you safe, and I didn’t know if I failed you and your mother, but when news broke from other commanding officers of your bravery and accomplishments, I realized you didn’t need me to guide you anymore because you have an inner strength beyond anything your mother or I ever had. Your determination, courage, and commitment has outshone us all, Elizabeth. The word pride does not begin to explain what I feel for you, my daughter.”
I nod because I am at a loss for words. I don’t know where to start, I suppose. Dad takes my duffle bag in one arm and takes my hand with the other. “I missed you so much, Dad,” I mutter.
“Oh, sweetheart, a girl will always love her father, but she will never know how much more he loves her. Each day you weren’t here, felt like a decade.”
“Lewis and James?” I ask.
“They are home and well, eagerly waiting for me to bring you home. They wanted to come with me, but I asked them for this time alone with you. I hope that’s okay.”
I press my cheek against his arm and take in a sigh of relief. “Of course, it is.” I take a minute to find the courage to ask a question haunting every part of me. “Dad—”
It seems that’s all I can manage to say when he interrupts whatever he thinks I was going to ask. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard anything. I know they sent Everett home so his father could care for him, but I haven’t heard an update as of late. However, I called his father’s house to let him know you were on your way home, but there was no answer. I also had a telegram delivered to his house, but honestly, I’m not sure of his current condition. I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I wish I had something better to tell you.”
The hollowness in my chest reminds me of my missing heart, the one I left with him when we separated in Belgium. It’s been months and if his condition worsened after our last goodbye, he may not know who I am at all now. It’s a thought I’ve dreaded, but one I accept as a possible reality.
“Audrey is impatiently waiting at our house for you, as well. She has someone she’d like you to meet, but if she knows I told you this, I might be in a lot of trouble, so you have to act surprised, okay?”
Audrey and I wrote to each other several times while we were away, but we weren’t able to stay in contact as much as I hoped. She also enlisted in the Army Nurse Corps, and her deployment and unit remained on ship from what I understand. I believe she returned home only recently.
“I guess I’m the last one home, huh?”
“We were hoping you’d be back a few months ago, but your unit was needed for good reason.” All along, I thought we were losing more and more every day we spent over there.
“Is there anything else I should know about before I step back into this life I left behind?”
“Yes,” Dad says. “There is something you need to know.”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
