That picture of me...I still remember standing there for the photographer. It was for my family, for them to remember me. That way, when I finally come home, they’ll always be proud of me and what I’ve done. Everyone took a picture like this one. And I was so eager to go off to war and fight for my loved ones…my mother, my father, and little Lucy. She’s my love, my sweetheart, my fiancé, and my life. Oh how I loved her so. I promised her that I’d be back and it wouldn’t be long. I promised the moment I get back, I would marry her. But that never happened. The war…the war wasn’t what it seemed. it wasn’t how I imagined it. Watching my brothers die and waiting to see who’s next…there was no pride in the war. We weren’t fighting for our nation; we were fighting for our lives. We were struggling to survive each and every day. No matter how many years go by, I will always remember. My dearest friend, my only companion that stayed with me, was my journal. It was in there where I wrote down all of my feelings. Many soldiers did this too. Some of us would discuss what to write, hoping that maybe one day, our lives would be known. And other kept to themselves, thinking and weeping in solitude. Me, I tried to keep my old life going. Keep my interests to bring back hope of returning. I was an artist. Sketching in my journal was the only thing that kept me sane. it helped me feel connected to my Lucy. She always enjoyed my drawings. Commenting and smiling at every one. I liked to draw her, she was so beautiful. Our birthdays were just 3 days apart. Oh it was such a joy! I was born on August 25th 1895 and she was born on August 28th in 1998. This blog, I made this blog so our stories will be known. I do not want your sympathy or make myself a hero. For I am not a hero, my comrades were. The ones who have died for us, let them never be forgotten.
