“Sorry sweetie. Mommy’s having one of her headaches.” I steal upstairs to the bedroom television: “The ambush happened three days before the battalion was due home. No word-” I flick off CNN and, in an Ambien haze, escape into a restless sleep.
Shocked awake, half drowsing in a mind movie, glasses chime, dishes ding, silverware jingles. Will Christmas be?
Trembling, I start downstairs to see.