Spence died that day. He lost a lot of blood in the explosion and never recovered. Just like that, my trio of brothers became a duo. Luckily, no one else was hurt, but it wouldn't have mattered to me because once a heart breaks that deeply, it's impossible to feel any more pain.

Hudson and I promised to have each other's backs more than ever, if that was possible. We'd learned how life could be snuffed out in the blink of an eye. It was something I still couldn't comprehend even after dealing with my father's death. How could a person be living one second and cease to exist the next? How could someone be speaking and moving in one instant, and be wholly absent and immobile the next?

I missed Spence more than my heart could bear. Spence's death reopened the wounds of losing my father, and the memory of September 11th echoed in my mind. I always thought time would heal my wounds, but that was wishful thinking. There are some kinds of pain you simply never recover from. You'll carry the despair with you everywhere you go until it's your turn to die. Then, you'll be buried with it too.

Hudson and I continued our fight against terrorism, serving a few more tours overseas. Each day that passed, we grew tougher; our skin grew thicker, and we grew closer than ever. I would have died for him, and I know he would have died for me. Sure, we were thick as thieves with all other soldiers, too, but this was different. We had a bond that could not be duplicated.

Before our tour, Hudson met a nice girl back home. Her name was Maria, and they planned to marry once Hudson came home. Though the pregnancy was a surprise, Maria gave birth to a little girl she named Isabella while we were in Afghanistan. Apparently, their night before he deployed got a little crazy.

I couldn't have been happier for my best friend. Naturally, he named me Isabella's Godfather. He even bought me a Godfather tee shirt when he asked me. I said yes, and a new wave of pride entered my life. Even though I wouldn’t meet her until I came home after the first tour, Isabella repaired a piece of my heart I thought would be damaged forever. Babies have a way of bringing life and light back into our lives even during the darkest of times.

However, darkness still hollowed my soul. Every year on my father's birthday, on Christmas, on my birthday, on the day of his death, and so many other holidays and anniversaries, I felt the full impact of his absence. And, my mother? If I was heartbroken, she was practically dead. A shell of her old self. My uncle wrote me letters as often as he could, and while I knew he attempted to sugarcoat the situation, I could tell my mother wasn't holding up well at all. Apparently, she wouldn't eat, sleep or leave the house.

I called when I could, but sometimes it was too hard to speak with her. She didn't sound like my mother; she didn't act like my mother. She was a stranger to me, a ghost of someone I once knew.

When I came home for a brief vacation during my first tour, my uncle wept in my arms. He told me he was trying his best to take care of my mom, but she was so far gone. I didn't blame him one bit. In fact, I didn't know how he managed to continue taking care of her. It broke my soul to look at her, let alone take care of her day in and day out. Her doctor prescribed her a heaping pile of antidepressants, but they only seemed to keep her low and sorrowful. Maybe her pain would never go away. Maybe this was just who she was now.

No matter what the reason, though, I couldn't bear it anymore. I couldn't stand to see my mother so melancholy and sullen. I tried everything I could to cheer her up while on leave. I cooked dinner, bought her flowers, offered to take her to art shows and museums, all her favorite things. That seemed like a past life, though. Or a dream. I couldn't remember the last time she smiled. I couldn't remember the last time my mom was happy. I suppose it would have been the morning before my father left for work for the very last time.

Soon, I grew angry with her. Didn't she know I'd lost my best friend? Didn't she know what I saw in Afghanistan? The terror? The death? Who was going to take care of me? Who was going to make sure I would get out of bed in the morning or eat breakfast? Not only did I nurse my wounds from war, but I had to nurse my mother, too. I hated myself for becoming so angry with her, but I couldn't help it. Life was fucked up.

I carried my depression with me everywhere. Every single day I thought about what could have been different in my life. Could I have saved Spence? Could I have saved my father? Why did I live and they died? I would have gladly traded places with either of them. I would have given my life to save them one hundred times over. But sometimes it doesn't matter how badly you want to turn back the clock, time keeps dragging us along regardless of our desire to hit pause or rewind.

In 2009, the eighth anniversary of the Twin Towers attack approached, as well as the end of my first enlistment in the Army. Most guys re-enlisted immediately. While my patriotism had never wavered since I'd enlisted, my desire for combat waned dramatically. Part of me felt numb to the death I encountered, and the other half of me screamed to escape. It was as though I applied a dab of lidocaine to my heart while simultaneously injecting it with a burst of adrenaline.

On the flight home, I had a layover a few hours away from the city.

"Hey, William. How's everything? Happy to be coming home?" Uncle Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, it'll nice to be back. How's Mom? Is she alright?"

"Well, see, that's what I'm calling about. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

My stomach lurched as I waited for my uncle to tell me I was an orphan.

"Your mom has been off lately. More than usual."

"What do you mean 'off?'"

"She forgets a lot of things. Last week, she thought I was your father. Another time, she left the oven on and almost burned the house down." His voice cracked with despair. "She's sick, William."

"What did the doctor say?"

"Early-onset Alzheimer's."

Alzheimer's? How was that possible? She was only in her mid-fifties. No, this couldn't be true.

"Are you sure? Did you get a second opinion?" My chest heaved.

"I'm sorry, kid. I took her to a handful of doctors who all said the same thing."

"I-I-I can't believe it."

"Me either."

It was then I made the second-most important decision after enlisting: I decided not to re-enlist. I needed to take care of my mom. I knew it wasn't fair for my uncle to handle the brunt of her care. Hell, he could use someone to help take care of him too. The guilt I carried after leaving my mother for war crushed my soul as though I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. I needed to be a real man and take care of my mother, even if that meant foregoing my future in the military and leaving my brothers behind. Part of me knew I wasn’t fit to fight either. Between the depression and anxiety I’d developed during the war and my mother, I realized I couldn’t be in the military any longer.

When I told Hudson I wasn't going back, he understood. Sure, he was pissed, but he knew family came first.