On an ordinary spring day, it all started with a knock at the door. A military commissioner stood on the doorstep.
“Your son is no longer here. cardiac failure. He was buried with military honors in another city.
Her strong son? Did heart failure cause your death? He didn’t even complain out loud. Then the documentation arrived, and the new cause was pneumonia.
Later, a friend of the son came from the cemetery. The birthdate on the gravestone was erroneous.
“It says he was born in 2000, but he was born in 1999.”
The mother could not unwind. Why wasn’t she allowed to take the body back to her hometown? Why was everything so secret and rushed?
The mother stood up. She hired two homeless men for a nominal fee. Good night. ancient cemetery. The scrape of shovels against the stillness.
The mother sat on a bench and looked at the floor.
“There!” one of the diggers cried.
The coffin appeared. Light. It is excessively bright.
“He weighed almost ninety kilograms,” the mother stated.
The men opened the lid.Coffee wasn’t available.
Everyone there let out a yell. The mother just watched. Don’t cry. No sound.
“I was aware,” she whispered. “I knew that he existed.”
The following months were dreadful. Inspections, grievances, and threats from military officials. They told her about the “mistake,” “accident,” and “technical glitch.”
In actuality, the military was opposed to further conflict. His friends saw that he was hurt, so they noted the initial diagnosis and buried an empty casket even though the body was never found.
The military verified the soldiers’ deaths.
But the mother did not move. Her son, she believed, was still alive.
Then, almost six months later, a call arrived in the middle of the night.
“It’s me, Mom.”
“Son?”I was a prisoner for a long time. However, I am now alive. I’m going home.
She cried and hugged the phone like a child for the first time in a long time.
