“Remembering Uncle Fritz: War And The Price We Pay” by Isolde Ryan

His heart was beating fast but his mind was sharp and alert as he lay in some brush with his face so close to the ground he could smell the earth. He was responsible for ensuring that his regiment wasn’t walking into an ambush.

Fritz was 21 years old and called to duty only eight months prior. He now found himself marching on Russia alongside his comrades. He was a scout; but first and foremost, he was a son, a brother, a friend, and a fiancé.

Back home, he had promised his girlfriend that he would come back no matter what.

Wedding plans had been in the works when the war broke out.

He had been laying in the bushes for quite some time and was sure that there were no Russian soldiers awaiting them. He stood up to give the signal to move forward when suddenly the sound of a shot traveled true the air. Fritz was hit; the bullet traveling through his heart. His friend, who had witnessed it, later told the family that he was dead before his body even hit the ground.

The war continued, his comrades didn’t even get a chance to bury him.

Fritz couldn’t keep his promise; he never made it home alive; he never made it home at all. His family was left with nothing more than knowing that he hadn’t suffered.

Fritz was my uncle. My dad didn’t talk about him much, as it was too painful for him.

Fritz was yet another young man dead, fighting someone else war. It wasn’t his war; he didn’t want to be there; he was ordered to fight.

I was born 20 years after his death, and I never knew much about him except that he was funny and a very good carpenter. My dad passed away 11 years ago, and now there is nobody alive that knew Fritz. On Remembrance Day, I like to include my uncle Fritz, even though he was marching for Germany.

I like to remember him not so much as a soldier, but like the 21-year-old carpenter whose only goal was to go home from a war he didn’t ever want to be part of.

November 11 is a sad time a year for me. My heart goes out to all of the men and women who lost their lives or lost their loved ones.

We should think about them, and their scarifies, and do what we can to prevent it from ever happening again.

As for me I will Remember my Uncle Fritz and all the other soldiers who were robbed of the lives they could have had.

Isolde Ryan has been a visual artist and writer all her life. She is a contributing author in both The Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Spirit of Canada (2017), and We are the Wordsmiths, (2017). Through the South Simcoe Arts Council, Isolde won First Place in the Battle of the Brushes in 2017 and 2015; and in 2010, won the Peoples’ Choice Award. 

Though Isolde put her creative side on hold to raise her family and breed prize-winning Dobermans, she has produced many original pieces for art lovers around the world. She frequently writes short stories, and is now working on her first novel. This story was previously published in Focus 50+. Follow Isolde on Twitter @isoldesryan, and visit her blog here.

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