Especially Jacob

Dear Diary, I’ve never been one to talk about my emotions, and that’s probably why the I’m writing now instead of talking to the doctors like my husband wants me to.

The year was 1942 the Great Depression was finally over, but a new threat gripped the hearts of millions, and a second epic proportion war was consuming the nations youth. Late November, everyone could feel it coming weighing on us like lead, the first anniversary of Pearl Harbor, Mom tried to keep an up-beat note as she scrimped and saved out meat rations.

Jake, that is to say my brother, would be coming home this week. But no-one really wanted to talk about it, he had once been a beautiful pianist, Grandmother had taught him herself. Not anymore, you see a Nazi bullet sliced through some of the tendons in his fore-arm this September, and his doctors say that he’ll never regain the fine motor function he once had.

The naval nurse that wrote us, was so nice telling all about how heroic my brother was, but my family didn’t care, and I know that we should be grateful and thanking the good lord for returning him at all, but I can’t help resenting what happened, and I know that I would sooner die than watch one of my children go to war, for what little say I have in it. Now, I digress.

It was Sunday November 29th when he finally came home, and Momma held off Thanksgiving in order to give him a good meal since we were a family again, and I think Momma was embarrassed that Jacob sat at the kitchen table with me while she cooked, his request, meatloaf.

I think I heard my mother start to cry when Jake started talking about the piano, learning to play right handed scores. My brother was such a good man; he even talked about using his ear, to teach and making me his first victim… I mean pupil. But then Daddy and Uncle Tim came and pulled Jake out to talk about some non-sense and it was just me and Momma, in the kitchen with that beautiful smelling meatloaf. I don’t know why I remember that so clearly.

But when my Mother took it out of the oven her apron string stuck on a cabinet and she slipped, dropping the loaf to the floor. I thought she was going to cry, but she just looked at me and said “If Jake can be so good about giving up the Piano, and then I can be good about this. Jo-Anna, go get me the serving platter.”

Of coarse I obeyed and was stunned to see my mother take the two parts of the loaf and settle them on the server as if nothing had happened, brushing the odd crumbs from the top, she gave me a watery smile and opened a can of tomato sauce, and sent me to grate some cheese. When we were done the loaf looked perfect, and the men raved… Especially Jacob.