www.nb.legion.ca 51 NEWBRUNSWICKCOMMANDThe Royal Canadian Legion LégionRoyale CanadienneDIRECTIONNOUVEAU-BRUNSWICK As originally submitted for competition / Tel que soumis initialement au concours Senior Essay/Essai sénior Shayan Hoffarth, Grade 10 student/élève de la 10e année - Home School, Miramichi The Letter On a rainy afternoon I found myself digging through boxes stored away in my grandmothers attic. It was often I found myself up here, searching through the endless stacks of brown, finding old trinkets, most of them older than me. As I sifted through old family albums and forgotten keepsakes my hand brushed against something unusual. As I pulled it up from underneath all the other knick-knacks, I could scarcely make out the writing on the front of the yellowing envelope. ”Mrs. Anne Booker” was still prominent on the front but the address was far too washed out for me to see. As I flipped the envelope over in my hands, I noticed a faded wax seal on the back with a “B” surrounded by a floral pattern. Curious as to what the insides contained I gently lifted up the already broken seal, and pulled out a slightly tarnished letter. Careful not to damage my new found treasure, I unfolded the letter and read the contents. “Dear Mom and Dad, If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it home.” My heart tightened as I realized the weight of the words. “Don’t grieve me for too long. I knew what I was doing when I went. I wanted to fight for a safer place for my family, and that is exactly what I did. I took a stand for something greater than myself, knowing that would mean a more peaceful life for all of you.” He also wrote about the long days ahead and the constant uncertainty. He shared his hope and how he dreamed of returning to his family but knew that in the end he accepted his life might be the price for their safety. The letter ended with, “Share my story and remember me not just as someone who fought and died in war, but as someone who believed that there was a better world ahead worth fighting for. I love you all and will see you again. - Frankie” Tears gathered in my eyes as I folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. I stood up and walked down the stairs from the attic wanting to know more about this young man and his bravery. I decided I would ask my grandmother about him. That evening I found my grandmother in the living room and I showed her the letter. As soon as she saw it her eyes softened, I realized she’s seen it before. “Frankie was just twenty-one when he went off to war.” My grandmother began, her eyes distant as if she was remembering another time. “I was just a few years old when he left so I don’t remember too much about him. Other than the fact that he could always make my mother smile no matter what, when he was around she was full of joy. Even when he left he was determined and brave, knowing that he may not return which is why he wrote this.” She gestured to the letter in her hands. “I didn’t get to read this letter until I was about your age, even though he wrote it over ten years prior” “So did he get to come back home?” I asked hoping for a happy ending to his story. My grandmother looked down and shook her head slowly. “No, he died fighting in battle for our freedom and peace.” She handed the letter back to me. “You can keep this if you’d like.” She said to me, a small smile on her lips. I took the letter and re-read it, letting the words sink in even more now, knowing the full story. On Remembrance Day I wore a poppy over my heart and carried his letter in my coat pocket. When I sat down and listened to the speech and the trumpet note followed by silence I thought about Frankie, and pictured him standing in a field of poppies with his fellow soldiers. When the ceremony was over I told my grandmother I would meet her back at the house in a bit, I had something I needed to do. I walked to the local cemetery and went up and down the rows until I stopped in front of an old cracked grave stone, on the front it read “Frank Booker”. I unpinned my poppy frommy coat and laid it in front of his grave. I bowed my head and thanked him for his life. As I walked away, the letter still clutched in my hand, I felt more connected to this day than I ever had.
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