The Somber Serenity of the Aftermath

Everyone talks about the calm before the storm, and the devastation that occurs whilst the storm rages. But there is never any discussion of the odd, somber serenity that is the aftermath of a battle. 

No one ever speaks about the drizzle that follows the flood waters; the calming tears of a sun-streaked cloud barrier. There are never words penned about the whispers that follow an emotionally scarring shouting match; never a literary picture painted about the droplets falling down from a storm-soaked tree. 

The same can be said about the Battle at Gettysburg. A thousand Homeric epics can be spun about that trio of blood-bathed days, and yet not capture it all. But there are no epics to describe the aftermath of those three days; the weeks to come where none could open a window, and each person became a doctor, nurse, or assistant. 

Even now, a hundred and fifty two years have gone by. Several wars have been won, and even more have been fought, but saying "I survived the battle" is not the same as saying "I lived through the aftermath."

The end of a battle, be it literal, metaphorical, mental, or spiritual, is never the end. The end is the eye; the second, "false calm". Anyone can fight a battle; anyone can win or lose; anyone can sit in the doctor's office and receive the diagnosis; anyone can stand up; but who is able to deal with what comes next?