"When he left for the war, S. was 24 and engaged to be married within the year- the house was even furnished and the wedding date set. He never came back. His mother, my mothers cousin, finally gave up hope that he’d come back in 2003. With every new group of POWs returning from Iran, she’d make phone calls and beg for news of her darling S. Had anyone seen him? Had anyone heard of him? Was he dead? With every fresh disappointment, we’d tell her that in spite of the long years, it was possible he was still alive- there was hope he’d come back. In 2002, she confessed to my mother that she wished someone would come along and crush the hope once and for all- confirm he was dead. In her heart, a mothers heart, she knew he was dead- but she needed the confirmation because without it, giving up hope completely would be a form of betrayal."today is the actual anniversary of my brother's death. my poor mum (and all of us) went through years of knowing that it was imminent - but hoping none-the-less.
its easier now that he is dead - for him too, im sure.
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