Dear Mother:
You will wonder and be anxious at my long silence, but I will explain all and you will see how impossible it was for me to write before. I have been in the hospital, and I did not want to worry you.
The day I was hit we were on the move at dawn, and we had not gone far when the boom of the guns ahead told us that a battle had begun. Things went on all right until we got about 500 yards, when I was hit in my foot by a piece of shrapnel. However, I managed to limp along and keep going.
Then others came up to reinforce and support our company. We doubled to the left, but we did not get far before I was struck to the ground. The shell did not burst, or I would have been blown to pieces. I felt very strange. Then, all at once, I seemed to see your face close to mine. I remember that someone undid my belt; then I suppose I became unconscious. I must have lain like that for many hours, for when I woke up it was dark and the stars were shining.
There was a strange quiet all around me. I put out my hand and touched someone, but though I called him he made no answer and I knew he must be dead. I tried to lift myself up, but fell back exhausted—then I knew what had happened. The fighting had stopped, and I was left among the dead.
Oh, it was a shock to find myself lying there, helpless, a dull ache all over me, and a sharp pain when I moved. How soon would I be dead? Oh, Mother, I can’t tell you the awfulness of that moment! I will never forget that night.
Something an old friend once said to me when I was a boy came to mind: “You’ll want God one of these days, Tom,” said he, “and don’t forget, He is waiting for you—waiting to be gracious to you.”
Then I thought of some verses you taught me as a youngster, and bits of hymns. I tried to put together a verse or two of this one:
“Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me,
Bless Thy little lamb tonight.”
and you would never believe how there, under the starlit sky, those simple words soothed me, but then it made me think that I, Tom Fisher, was no longer a little lamb. I was a black sheep, old in wickedness, a wandering sheep. I sobbed out confessing my sins for Christ’s sake, and He settled it there and then, out in the cold night. He said, “My son, give Me thine heart” (Proverbs 23:26), and I answered, “Lord, it is Thine.”
The terror of death left me, for One stood beside me who took away all fear, and I wept for joy. I am writing this from my heart, and I feel that you, dearest of mothers, will understand and rejoice.
Well, the burial squad came around in the morning, and I remember clutching at a hand as they were lifting the next poor fellow from the ground, but I had no voice to speak. When I awoke, I was in the base hospital, where they have been very good to me. The nurse would have written to you, but I wanted to tell you the good news myself. I shall soon be with you, for although my wounds are healing, I am to have a spell at home.
Your loving son,
Tom