Suicide notes

And having checked out of hospital, without an arm I went straight home, still having ten months to go until full demobilization. In some sense, it comes out, I was lucky. Well, every cloud has a silver lining, so to say, even without one arm but I’m still alive and coming back home on my feet and not in a zinc coffin. So I went to Baku, my home, where else would I go? I thought let’s make mom happy with my stump. She was happy of course, with arm or without; at least her son was back home alive. She roughly knew what was going on there where I had just come back from, I had written to her, though in the letters I tried not tell the whole truth about it, so that she wouldn’t have worried too much. I never described that war in dismal colours, never wrote about any dangers, well not the whole truth, in other words like our media covers these events – they probably also don’t want to disturb the public with some petty issues, like me not wanting to disturb my mom. She clung to me, hugged me, wouldn’t let go for sometime, literally shed tears on my stump. “Thank you for coming back alive so