My alarm sounded precisely at five a.m. I didn’t need it to wake me; I was already dressed and sitting on the edge of my perfectly made bed. I told myself that I still wasn’t used to the time change. Syria was seven hours ahead of Sweet Haven, Georgia.

The doctor training in me knew that three weeks was more than ample amount of time for my body to readjust to the time difference. The fact that I was still wide away at three a.m. every morning had nothing to do with the time change and everything to do with my inability to adjust back to civilian life.

Sometimes I hated the fact that I was a doctor. I would have much rather just lived in the blissful ignorance that most of my fellow comrades had when returning from active duty. At least they could believe the lies they told themselves. I, however, knew that my inability to adds had nothing to do with time change or readjustment buffers and everything to do with what I had seen over there.

I realized I hadn’t moved in some time when I stood, muscles stiff, and shut off the alarm. I turned and smoothed the wrinkles my body had made on the bed before silently walking out of my bedroom.

The townhouse was small and barely furnished. It reminded me more of the container barracks I lived in for the majority of the last six years. It made it feel like home. I walked silently down the darkened hall and to the small kitchen. I didn’t need lights on to know where I was going. A quick and efficient breakfast left me sitting on the lone chair in my living room while I waited for time to pass again.

Time was now my enemy. I never seemed to have enough things to fill it. When I kept busy, I was okay, but with significant gaps of empty time like this, all I had left to do was think on my past. Most of the time it was in longing for the Navy Seal brothers I had made. Wondering what they were doing now. But in rare instances, it was reliving memories I would much rather forget.

Sure I had been retired for medical reasons, but it still made me feel like a pussy. I was here living the soft civilian life while my brothers were still out there putting their lives on the line. I rubbed my thigh where the shrapnel had ripped through my flesh and did my best to ignore the constant ringing always at the back of my eardrums.

Finally, I figured I waited long enough and headed out the door to my first day at my new job. I allowed the medical retirement from my SEAL team for two reasons. One, I wasn't at all sure if fighting it would have even made a difference in the end. Two, because my father was begging me to come and take over his practice so that he could retire himself.

Today marked day one of our six-month transition into his retirement. He deserved it; I would give him that. I had always planned to take over the business one day, anyway. Joining the Navy was just a way to put my skills to some good use before having to settle down to this quiet town.

I had never expected to love the military so much. If I had it my way, I would have stayed in until the day I died. Of course, life expectancy as a SEAL was short lived. I didn’t care much about that. I was making a difference where it mattered.

Now I would be handing out cold medicine for runny noses and painkillers to people who couldn’t hack simple aches. It was drudgery going back to the life I had always planned to have after experiencing something far superior.

I walked through the small office doors listening to the little chime of bells that automatically sounded. It was like blasting back into my childhood. I hadn’t entered the offices since coming back from overseas, and I was not surprised to see it exactly how I remembered it.

“Good morning, Hawk,” Mrs. Jennings said from the receptionist counter.

I gave her a weak smile in return. Mrs. Jennings had been just as much of a fixture to this office as the worn out chair and dated magazines. I reached into her candy bowl and pulled out a jolly rancher.

When my mother lost her battle with breast cancer, Mrs. Jennings had stepped up to take her place. Every day from the time I was nine, I came here after school and sat in this old waiting area with her to do my homework while Dad saw to his patients.

“A little early for sweets,” Mrs. Jennings said in a motherly fashion with her darken brow raised.

I gave her that innocent boy smile she never could say no to.

“Come on Mrs. J, just trying to cut my nerves a little.”

“What nerves, boy?” She asked in her normal southern sassy tone. “You have been practically raised in this office.”

“I guess just the fact of coming back to real life,” I said softly.

I didn’t share my concerns or struggles with many. Mrs. Jennings made that short list.

“Honey,” she said reaching out and taking my hand. I loved the feel of her motherly touch. She may have been as dark skinned as I was light, but she was a mother to me through and through. “you are gonna to be just fine. Just keep breathing, and it will all come back to you.”

I gave her a soft smile and kissed the back of her hand. She giggled at my debonair action and waved me off.

“Go on now, you tease. Your father is already waiting for you in the back room.”

I gave her one last wink before slipping the hard candy into my mouth. I liked to have something to concentrate on, to take my mind off the ringing.

Sure enough, there was my father back in his office stacked high with files. He was the worst when it came to organization. It made me cringe a little. Step one would be computerizing everything and lighting every single one of these stacks on fire.

“Oh there you are,” he said not looking up from his work.

I noticed that his hand shook a little as he wrote. It was a hereditary tremor he was born with, but it had gotten significantly worse as he aged. Between that and the fact that I was beginning to see early signs of dementia, it was time for him to take a break from work.

“Mrs. Prescott is already here,” he said handing me over the file. “I thought she would be a nice first patient for you.”

I opened the folder and skipped through the content. I knew the name well. She was my first-grade teacher in fact. In this small town, I didn’t think there were very many people I didn’t know.

Aside from the usual people in town we also got the occasional college student from the state university twenty minutes away. I smiled to myself a bit as I thought about that. After six years in the navy, I had more experience with drunken kids than old ladies struggling with arthritis.

Father and I didn’t really speak much. It wasn’t something new, its how it always was between us. Mom was the one which I opened up to, and then Mrs. J after her. So with the file in hand, I merely nodded and left the room.

"Good morning Mrs. Prescott. How are you doing today?” I said as I entered room number one.

“Hawk? Is that you? Your father told me you were back in town. Look at you all grown up,” she said with surprise in her gentle brown eyes.

“Yep, just got back about a month ago,” I said sitting down to take her blood pressure.

“And you are taking over your father’s practice now?” She asked conversationally.

“Yeah, figured the old man could use a break,” I said as I got out my stethoscope and listened to her heart.

“That’s a good boy. I always knew you were going to make something of yourself. Look at you now all grown up and a doctor.”

“What gave it away? The way I ate my glue in the first grade?” I said full of sarcasm.

“No you generally did that about the same way as all the other kids,” she retorted with more smile wrinkles on her face then I remember. “It was the way you were always willing to help others. You had such a caring heart.”

I gave a lop-sided smile at her words.

The day continued on much as the first appointment. A lot of people with minimal issues, as I expected, and all wanting to take a trip down memory lane with me. It was busy at least, being a Friday, and I was thankful for that.

By midmorning I was really getting into my groove of things, and it was looking hopeful that I could at least make my work life function smoothly. Working hard and efficiently was something I was trained well to do.

Dad and I for the most part just rotated every other patient that came into the office. It was a nice rhythm and seeing him at work gave me confidence that he wasn’t as deteriorated as I worried he was.

“Hawk,” he said handing me over a file, “you take this one. I am going to take lunch now.”

I looked down at the file. It was a little girl named Emma Jones. I scanned over it quickly. She wasn’t more than five, and it looked like she had been seen here her whole life. Dad was even the one to deliver her.

I couldn’t help but get a ping at the last name. It brought back a flood of memories of a life I had before the SEALs. It was a common enough name, however, and the likelihood of it meaning anything was minimal.

I walked through the door to greet the new patient, and my heart hit the floor. Sitting on the papered table was a little girl and standing next to her with her back to me was a woman I never imagined seeing again. She didn’t have to turn; I knew in an instant who she was.