One rumor whispers of his disappearance into the desert, another insists he vanished within the forest’s depths, and yet another mourns his loss to the waters. He wasn’t my only son, but he was the sole beacon of care for me and his sisters. His words still echo in my mind, “Dear mother, for your empty wrists that lack bracelets, I’ll buy golden ones for you and my sisters.” His love for his siblings was boundless. With the Taliban’s rise to power, he faced unemployment. He wasn’t content with idleness, willing to work under any circumstance. Yet, he existed as a fugitive, drifting from place to place, city to city, each passing month bringing a new location. This unsettled life weighed heavily on both of us. Despite my protests and pleas, he resolved to depart from the country he had fought for and loved.
I’ll never forget the day he bid farewell. He promised me that as soon as things got better, he would return quickly and marry the girl I had chosen for him. He hugged his sisters one by one, and we all prayed for him. My son left my side, and I entrusted him to God. He reached Iran very easily within a few days and worked there for a while. He didn’t keep in touch with any of his friends or comrades. He didn’t want to spend much time in Iran. He saved up money and went to Turkey. He never spoke of his struggles and hardships. I never heard a word of complaint from him. He only said that if I kept my mother’s prayers, everything would be easy for me. But alas, even my prayers found no place.
He was in Turkey and found a good job. He decided to head towards Europe. He said he had to go to Europe for his sisters. He wanted to go to Europe to provide a better life for his sisters. He said that as soon as he found a good job, he would hire a tutor for his sisters, and the one who finished school would join an online English class to qualify for a scholarship. But none of his dreams came true. My boy went for his sisters but lost his own life. He sacrificed himself. He once sacrificed himself for the homeland, and now again for his sisters.
During the times when he had just finished school, the atmosphere of military service was upon him. I insisted he become a doctor, an engineer, or pursue a non-military career. But he refused for a thousand and one reasons. He said we must first eliminate those who are endangering the homeland, then he’ll come home and start over, and then he’ll become a doctor. Of course, he never liked being a doctor, but he said these things to make me happy. He didn’t even want to join the military, but he thought he had to and that took precedence over everything else. That’s why one day I saw him coming home wearing a military uniform. I cried that day.
He was happy to serve his homeland. He thought by fighting, he would prosper the nation, but it didn’t turn out that way. He got injured and returned home with broken limbs multiple times, but didn’t stay home and went back to fulfill his duty, carrying the weapon on his shoulder to serve his homeland. But the homeland he served no longer needed him. The Taliban came. Those whom my son called “enemy,” and they called my son the same. My son, to preserve his life and the peace of his family, fled from the homeland he fought for and never returned. He was a good son to me and a good man for his country.
Note: The author wrote this narrative from the perspective of the narrator.