I stumble out of bed after hearing mom crying and 0walk into the lamp lit room, I find her weeping on the old couch we got from our grandmother.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” I ask with worry in my voice.  She turns to me with her puffy eyes.
“Come here, I need to tell you something.” She says scooting over to make room for me. I walk over and sit next her.
“Sweetie, your father’s unit was bombed. No one made it out.” she whispers
“WHAT! HOW! NO!” I scream running away. I can feel the tears coming. I go to my room, fall into my unmade bed, and sob. How could this happen? My dad is the toughest person I know.  My mom tries to come and comfort me, but I tell her to go away. Once she is gone I lock my door.
After a day of crying, I realize dad will not get my Christmas gift I spent all my money on, a framed picture of us before he left for Iraq. I hear a knock on my door and know who it is, my mom
“Come in” I say
“Hi” mom whispers with tears stains on her cheeks. She comes and lays next to me on the bed, and starts to stroke my head.
“Mom, I’m sorry. I was just very angry and mad.” I whisper in her ear, hoping she will understand. “Its okay, I feel the same way.” She says as relief floods through me.
I look at the clock 10:00 am, mom and I fell asleep while we were talking. I go to the kitchen so I can help mom with breakfast. I start to take out the eggs and bread, when I hear the doorbell, who can be here? It’s Christmas.
“Go get it please” Mom asks
“Who do you think it is?” I wonder.
“I don’t know” She says
I go to the door and open it. He stands there, muscular and handsome like always.
My dad.