Media Center

July 2nd, 1863 Dear Mother and Father, How am I supposed to say this? My brother is gone and he will not be coming home with me at the end of the war. Tom died at the Battle of Chancellorsville in May. I couldn’t bring myself to write you before now. The first thing I know about Tom’s death is that he couldn’t have been saved. I never saw him come into the hospital. He died before I could get near him. Tom was so still. It hurt me to see him like that because he was always so full of life and laughter. Casualties had been pouring in the entire day. It was late in the afternoon when they finally stopped coming. Orderlies had been put to work identifying dead and wounded. Do you remember Tom’s old English coin? That was how they knew his name. It was on a leather string around his neck. When one of the orderlies saw the last name “Clark”, he came to find me. He asked, “ Do you have a brother, Dr. Clark?” I answered that I did, indeed. He asked me to follow him outside. There, I found Tom. His bright gold hair lacked all of its luster. All I could do was touch his face, his forehead, his eyelids. I could only say good-bye. Reality crashed down upon me. There would be no more races or jokes shared between us. Nancy wouldn’t see her husband again and Matt shall never know his father. Tears streaked down my cheeks. I kept asking, Why him? Why was it my brother that had to die? The awful truth is that he is one of so many dead. It all came to the surface again today. I forgot that I was a doctor and a decent man. All I was concerned with was making the Confederacy pay. I refused to help a badly injured man that had a chance of surviving. To me, it seemed that he didn’t deserve the chance that Tom didn’t have. I forgot myself and in the process, nearly sacrificed another. On person stood in my way. She is a little snip of a nurse, only nineteen, but she stood up to me and reminded me of who I was. Later, she told me why. Her own friend had died in the war. Mary, the nurse, didn’t hold a grudge, though. Instead, she chose to help people live. She made me see what I had become and she prompted me to write this letter. All my love goes to you, James