Waiting at Sunrise
Mikko awoke to see the sun just beginning to shine through the window of his cabin.
“Oh, no!” he thought. “What if I’m late?”
Immediately, he jumped out from under the covers and ran out the door of the little cabin. He stood in front of the fire pit outside and looked down the road as far as he could see.
There was no sign of anyone coming, but he waited for a few minutes, just to be certain.
Mikko only went back inside when his mother called him for breakfast. He walked back into the cabin, ready to begin the day. His two sisters were already seated.
“Did you see him, Mikko?” asked his little sister.
“No,” he replied. “Not today.”
“Come, eat your oatmeal. We have lots of work to do today,” said their mother.
“What are we going to do today, Mother?” Mikko asked, between mouthfuls of steaming hot oatmeal.
“We’re going to bring an extra meal to the neighbors, Mikko,” she replied. “Since her husband was injured and she has such a young baby, she hasn’t had time to make a proper meal in the last week.”
Mikko nodded. There was always so much work to do nowadays, but he and his sisters would be glad to help in the kitchen.
These were dark days for their little village. War had been tearing the country apart, and lately, the main armies were fighting back and forth across their valley. The damage was always great. Several of the nearby villages had been burnt to ashes, and their few survivors had crawled all night to the nearby towns and villages. The armies marched through the fields, destroying all the crops as they went.
As a result, there were many who were now without homes, food, and loved ones. And to Mikko’s mother, that meant there was no question but to give them shelter, feed them, and comfort them in their loss. Every day, before even taking care of their own needs, she and her children would find someone new to help.
Perhaps it was partly a distraction. Mikko and his sisters were glad to keep their hands busy, for it kept their minds from worrying about their father. Even so, it would never be more than an hour or two before Mikko would remember.
“Mikko, will you chop the onions for me?” his mother asked when they had finished breakfast. “I think I’ll make them a red soup.”
“Yes, Mother,” he replied. Onions made his eyes burn, but he knew there was no point in arguing about it.
As Mikko chopped the onions, he closed his eyes to keep the onion sting out. But as he did, he saw his father, walking slowly away down the long road into the sunrise, carrying his little sack. Mikko opened his eyes again.
After he finished the onions, he asked, “May I go outside and play?”
“Yes,” his mother replied. “I will call you when I need more help.”
He was out the door before she had finished her sentence, and Mikko spent the rest of the morning with some friends from the village.
A little before lunch, Mikko’s mother called out, “Mikko, I need your help to take this meal over to the neighbor’s!”
Mikko ran back to the cabin.
“Here, take this,” she said, handing him a platter that was covered with a cloth.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Bread rolls and a salad,” she replied.
They walked over to the next house on their road and knocked on the door.
A timid young woman opened the door. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“We’ve brought a meal for your family,” replied Mikko’s mother. “I heard about your husband, and we wanted to help.”
The woman didn’t say anything for a moment. Mikko almost asked his mother what was wrong with her, but she managed to whisper a thank you. Mikko noticed that there were tears in her eyes as they left.
“Why was she sad, Mother?” he asked. “Doesn’t she think her family will like our soup?”
“Of course they’ll like the soup,” his mother replied. “She’s sad because her husband was wounded in the war, and she’s afraid he’s going to die.”
Mikko didn’t want to think about what would happen if his father died in the war. He didn’t want to see his mother crying. She was always the one who was helping other people. Who would come to bring her food?
That night, as Mikko went to bed, he remembered the last few moments he had spent with his father, as he did every night. They had stood just outside the front door, first thing in the morning. Mikko’s father was explaining to him that he should obey his mother and help take care of his sisters.
“Of course I will, Father,” he remembered saying.
“And I have,” thought Mikko. “Every day.”
Then he remembered his father saying, “Mikko, one day, when the war is over, I will come home. And I will see you here, waiting for me.”
Every day, at sunrise, Mikko would stand in front of his house, waiting for his father to come home. Every day, no one came.
Mikko’s mother never asked him why he stood there in the morning. She remembered what his father had said. But his sisters and friends did not. Eventually, his sisters hardly even seemed to remember their father at all. But Mikko would never forget.
Every morning, he would try to remember his father so that he would know him when he came. He remembered his father’s great beard, his deep voice, and even the coat he was wearing as he walked down the road to the war.
Sometimes, even Mikko wondered whether he would ever come back. As he grew older, he learned more about the war and how many people were dying. But even on those days, Mikko stood out in the cold as the sun rose, perhaps out of habit more than anything else.
Years and years passed on, and Mikko was growing older. Sometimes, there were rumors that peace was near and that the war would be over, but they never came to anything.
One day, on his twelfth birthday, Mikko’s mother came outside to wait with him. She was too tired to stand, so they sat on the edge of the firepit. The stones were still warm from the night before.
“Mikko, do you believe your father will return,” she asked.
Mikko did not answer. Some days, it was hard to believe. But the war was still on, and perhaps, when peace came, so would his father. Something in his heart, like the coals in the fire pit, was still alive.
“He was a good man,” his mother continued. “And faithful. I know that if he is alive, he will do anything to come home like he said.”
Mikko nodded.
The sun was risen now, and he was beginning to feel its heat. He looked off to the distance one more time before they would go back inside for breakfast.
To his surprise, the dim figure of a man was barely visible on the horizon, walking towards them. He pointed for his mother to look.
Neither of them said a word. They dared not raise their hopes, but there was certainly someone coming.
As the man came closer, Mikko saw that he was wearing a coat. Was it the coat his father had taken?
Soon, they saw that the man had a great beard, just like his father’s. Mikko and his mother stood up and ran to meet him.
Before they could see his face, the man called out, “Mikko! I knew you would be here waiting for me!”
It was his father’s voice.
Soon, the three of them came together. Mikko saw that his father and mother were crying as they embraced. We are all crying, but no one is sad!
