Cheerful citizens of the city, holding colorful flowers had congregated to welcome the prisoners of war. 

But that wasn’t all. Blowing their bus horn, bus drivers had also joined the jolly crowd to express their happiness.   

I was holding a picture of my son!

I was more anxious than ever. Whether he is among these people or …

Two years, two months and two weeks have passed since last I received news form my son. He left home on a summer evening promising to call me as soon as he would find a phone in the war zone. May be he has not found one yet. No letter, no message still!

From that day on, I have been waiting to see him or at least to get a message from him. I went to the battle field to find him but nobody knew about him. No one had seen him after the last day.

I sent a letter to the United Nations, asking whether my son was among the prisoners of war, but there was no answer.

From morning till night, I took to the streets looking for him in every nook and cranny in the city, thinking he had lost his memory and he couldn’t find his house direction.

I inquired about my son from every soldier I saw in the streets; but nobody knew about him.

I never believed that he was dead. My heart told me that he would be back. Yes, certainly he was alive.

When the first group of war prisoners returned home, every night, I sat before the house with the front door wide open till the sunrise, waiting for him to arrive.

Those days I was really distressed. I wished I could have hugged my son as mothers would. I sat beside the radio, carefully listening to the names of released prisoners of that day. There was a long list but my son’s name was not among them.

My other son went to the borderlines to get news about his brother.

Finally, that good day came! His name was on the list. My daughter have run all the way from her home to ours to show me the newspaper.

“I knew he was alive”, I told my daughter.

How long does it take him to get home? I can’t wait! How come days seem much longer than before?

Is he healthy? I didn’t want to see him maimed? Oh my God, now I had to pray for him to in perfect health.

He had reached Iran-Iraq border crossing. How long would his medical checkups take? They told us he would be home after one week. Everything was prepared at home. All relatives were there to welcome him.

I wish I could see him. I wish I could hug him, smell him.  Why my expectation wouldn’t end?

Finally the day came. They called us for good tidings on that evening and said that they would bring him home.

His father called a cameraman to record to best ever moment of our life; the return of our son. All the relatives helped me cook gourmet food for dinner and clean the house. To that day, I had not let anybody enter his room. Nobody was allowed to touch his belongings ever since he had left his room.

I was eagerly waiting for the evening to come. I was eagerly waiting to see him.

It was 11 a.m.  Why had the time stopped?

Somebody called me from the yard. The house door was open. 

HE WAS THERE! He was standing in the front yard. He was taking steps toward me. I wanted to come closer to him, but my feet did not help me walk. My tears did not let me see him and I ran my hands down his shoulder; and I don’t remember anything else.

When I regained consciousness, he was standing over me, looking down at me. This time I saw his pale and thin face.

I thank God he was healthy, although he was very weak.

Nobody has recorded the best moment of my life. The cameraman didn’t get there. 

I didn’t need any camera. The memory of that day is stored in the deepest part of my heart, and to this day, it is still crystal clear. 

NM/MG