Letters from the Front Lines: Don't Worry, Please

An excerpt from a letter my father wrote to his parents from France during WWII:

“Well, at least I have a chance to write again.  I have not been hurt, except just one little scratch on my leg from a mortar shell.  Don’t worry, please, I went 4 days after and then went to the medics and they put some stuff on it.  It is all healed now, but I think the piece is still in there, as there is only one hole.  The medic said there is nothing to worry about, and I went right back to my company...  We have really been plastering and plastering them until I don’t see how they can stand it.  I will really have some experiences to tell when I get home. 

The war hasn’t affected me the way you might think it would, and I have seen things that I never thought I would see, but they just seem everyday.  After it is over, the letup on my nerves may make me jumpy for a while, but that is all...  I’ll be home soon, I hope, and I will be happier than I can ever say.  I have the folder with your pictures in it, and the Bible that Aunt Ithel gave me in my pocket, and when things are hot, I feel them and think, ‘How can I miss with these in my pocket?’”...

Dad was badly wounded a few months later, but he did eventually make it home.  He was indeed jumpy for a while—and although that eventually faded, he never forgot what happened over there.  May we never forget, either.