Jungle of Sorrows

Jungle of Sorrows



By Christopher Guthrie

To those who are not forgotten, we will never forget

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Why’d you have to die? There was more I needed to say. I thought I came to terms with your death but you left me alone with nowhere to turn. Why’d you have to die? I see your name on this polished black granite, appearing from the earth, my reflection staring back. Are you still part of me? Your name etched in the stone a reminder of our love. Forever, always. Why’d you have to die? My hazel-green eyes glisten with your memory. Has it come down to this, my love, a name on a wall shrouded by thousands of others just as brave? The memory is so strong, will I ever forget, no, forgive? Why’d you have to die? 'They' called it an honorable death, you served your country well. While those who returned didn’t fare as well. Where are 'They' now? Forgotten, obscured. How could you die? I, alone, with a son you never knew. He asks all the time, “Is Daddy real? Did he love you?” I tell him the answers are on the wall. That wall glistening with his tears is all he knew. He found his answers, so easily for a child, more easily than I.



It was so hard trying to survive. I asked your mother, in the name of love, for help, but we, Jacob and I, were the reminders she didn’t need. She wanted to forget, I never will. She came to join you a few years ago. I don’t think she ever forgave, no, forgot. Why’d you have to die, halfway around the world in a jungle of sorrows?



You were so happy when your number appeared. Was the same day you asked me to marry. Of course the answer was yes, it had always been yes. I remember it so clearly, a bright blue June day, the two of us truly in love. We tied a bond that death could not divide. We lived in Camelot, our Eden. It was heaven to me. We were so happy, with a baby on the way, when your orders came. You were going to save the world and protect your sweet Gvenour. You served Camelot well, Sir Lancelot, be glad you died or they would have forgot. That was the price we paid for living in Camelot. Why’d you have to die?



Your letters came every week or so. You said everything was fine and you had to go. I supposed you tried to protect me. I have seen the death on the news, there every day. I always worried, I can not deny. Death was everywhere during that dishonorable war. The returning solders, discarded, forgotten. Was this going to happen to you? Why’d you have to die? I pleaded with God to bring you home. I knew he heard when the telegram came. I didn’t need to open it. I knew what it said. Mrs. Macarthy down the street had received one a week before. Her son had died, he as brave as you. God had answered my plea he had brought you home. I don’t have to pray anymore.



It’s a dreary day, as I touch your name. The stone is cold, and wet, I fear. I ask you one more time ‘Why’d you have to die?’ I’m looking for answers. So many have come and gone. The forgotten remembered once more. Did they find what they were searching for? An answer to a prayer, solace to a thought Your death was hard to bear but I think I found what I was looking for. It wasn’t for me to blame. Death is a fact. It was for me to forgive and never forget. God has answered my prayer. With my reflection staring back from that black granite wall, I see your name once more. I lay this red rose down to say farewell. Your memory is part of me and always will.