remembering the rich timber of his voice, the touch of his hand on hers.
How could she not?
Tate ,
Hope you are well and had a good Anzac Day. I attend the Gibbs Bay RSL service every year and the men and women serving in Afghanistan were in the forefront at this year’s service. We said a prayer for Richard Kitchener and your unit was mentioned by name. Our RSL president also laid a special floral tribute .
I made my wreath this year — woven greenery from our garden with tiny pink rosebuds. A bit different to last year’s red poppies (Dad’s choice) but this year I wanted it to reflect Ben and what he meant to me. When we were kids we had this rambling pink rose bush next to the letterbox. The buds were pink, fading to white by the time the flowers opened. I couldn’t find the exact same one, but the buds were pretty close. Next year, if you tell me what your favourite flowers are (if you have a favourite), I’ll add some of those as well .
I can’t believe how quickly the year’s going. I’ve put the gnomes aside and I’m working on the Mother’s Day garden ornaments — our deadline is May first, so I’ll have them available to sell. Busy times .
I thought of you and your unit all day today. I’m always drained at the end of Anzac Day — for me it’s personal. You guys must be a thousand times worse — you’re living it. Anyway, hope you had the chance to remember and reflect. I think about you all the time and I’m really proud of your service. You guys rock .
Stay safe .
Layla .
***
Tate stared at the inky sapphires laid out on the bench in front of him, pondering the mysterious ways nature found to display beauty. Some precious stones were transparent and sparkly, but these sapphires had real depth. Most of the time they were a deep navy ink, but sometimes a flash of green split the muddiness.
Every day he paddled away in muddy waters and it took real effort to stay afloat. Then an email from Layla would pop up and cut through the murk. Make him realise there was more to life than working in a base carved out of barren, frozen earth in a foreign land. He’d never really contemplated the future, there hadn’t been any point, but now he thought about it daily.
The newsletter from Lavarack was still sitting in his inbox, with its link to the information on leaving the army. Since the attack, he’d gone to delete that newsletter at least forty times, but he couldn’t. Should he stay in the army? And if he did, would he put his hand up for another overseas tour?
It was decision time but he wanted to sit on his imaginary fence a little while longer. Another few months on and he’d know if what he and Layla had was real.
Or if the attack has affected him.
P.T.S.D .
Post traumatic stress disorder. They’d all heard of it, even been warned to watch out for it in their mates. But how did you know what was normal?
Who knew?
He shook his head. He put that thought aside and went back to the problem at hand. How he was going to prise Layla’s birthday out of her without making it obvious. The sapphires, intended for Valentine’s Day, had never been sent. He tucked them back into their pouch and pulled the keyboard towards him.
Hi Layla
We’re all a bit down today. We commemorated Anzac Day and had a special remembrance service for Kitch — lots of photos and things to remember the good times. Earlier in the month we all signed a card for his wife that the CO was sending on. Dinner tonight — they took all the Anzac letters from school kids across Australia and made a table mural out of them — they stuck them to the table in the mess and covered the whole lot with plastic. I sat near a letter from a kid called Ken who was practising with his toy gun so he could come and join the army when he was bigger. He even drew us a picture. Classic .
I realised when I read your email, there’s so much I don’t know about you. And vice versa. Here goes — my life in a nutshell:
Siblings:
How could she not?
Tate ,
Hope you are well and had a good Anzac Day. I attend the Gibbs Bay RSL service every year and the men and women serving in Afghanistan were in the forefront at this year’s service. We said a prayer for Richard Kitchener and your unit was mentioned by name. Our RSL president also laid a special floral tribute .
I made my wreath this year — woven greenery from our garden with tiny pink rosebuds. A bit different to last year’s red poppies (Dad’s choice) but this year I wanted it to reflect Ben and what he meant to me. When we were kids we had this rambling pink rose bush next to the letterbox. The buds were pink, fading to white by the time the flowers opened. I couldn’t find the exact same one, but the buds were pretty close. Next year, if you tell me what your favourite flowers are (if you have a favourite), I’ll add some of those as well .
I can’t believe how quickly the year’s going. I’ve put the gnomes aside and I’m working on the Mother’s Day garden ornaments — our deadline is May first, so I’ll have them available to sell. Busy times .
I thought of you and your unit all day today. I’m always drained at the end of Anzac Day — for me it’s personal. You guys must be a thousand times worse — you’re living it. Anyway, hope you had the chance to remember and reflect. I think about you all the time and I’m really proud of your service. You guys rock .
Stay safe .
Layla .
***
Tate stared at the inky sapphires laid out on the bench in front of him, pondering the mysterious ways nature found to display beauty. Some precious stones were transparent and sparkly, but these sapphires had real depth. Most of the time they were a deep navy ink, but sometimes a flash of green split the muddiness.
Every day he paddled away in muddy waters and it took real effort to stay afloat. Then an email from Layla would pop up and cut through the murk. Make him realise there was more to life than working in a base carved out of barren, frozen earth in a foreign land. He’d never really contemplated the future, there hadn’t been any point, but now he thought about it daily.
The newsletter from Lavarack was still sitting in his inbox, with its link to the information on leaving the army. Since the attack, he’d gone to delete that newsletter at least forty times, but he couldn’t. Should he stay in the army? And if he did, would he put his hand up for another overseas tour?
It was decision time but he wanted to sit on his imaginary fence a little while longer. Another few months on and he’d know if what he and Layla had was real.
Or if the attack has affected him.
P.T.S.D .
Post traumatic stress disorder. They’d all heard of it, even been warned to watch out for it in their mates. But how did you know what was normal?
Who knew?
He shook his head. He put that thought aside and went back to the problem at hand. How he was going to prise Layla’s birthday out of her without making it obvious. The sapphires, intended for Valentine’s Day, had never been sent. He tucked them back into their pouch and pulled the keyboard towards him.
Hi Layla
We’re all a bit down today. We commemorated Anzac Day and had a special remembrance service for Kitch — lots of photos and things to remember the good times. Earlier in the month we all signed a card for his wife that the CO was sending on. Dinner tonight — they took all the Anzac letters from school kids across Australia and made a table mural out of them — they stuck them to the table in the mess and covered the whole lot with plastic. I sat near a letter from a kid called Ken who was practising with his toy gun so he could come and join the army when he was bigger. He even drew us a picture. Classic .
I realised when I read your email, there’s so much I don’t know about you. And vice versa. Here goes — my life in a nutshell:
Siblings:
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