His tears are golden, and his pain is proof. His wings he once had, that he left behind in hell are his grave stones. His tired look in his eyes is the last thing he feels, going home to see his family again he fears more than going into battle. In this battle he will fight with his family, there aren't any enemies he can shoot at, or hate, because his enemy is himself.
The cab pulls up in front of his mother's house, and he looks at the tree he and his father planted together when he was a boy. He nods in respect to his father. That tree, growing up, was a reminder of why that flag he loved so flapped on their flag pole, and now he can really understand it all. He gets out of the cab in his Dress Blues, and grabs his bags. Looking in the big front window, he sees his mother. Aged, but still beautiful to him, the closest thing he's seen to an angel for twelve long months. His attempts to hold back his tears fail, and wet trails stream down his face. He's home, but it feels like so much more, in such way that would have seemed so little to him before. He was home.
Stepping inside the house, he could hear his family talking, and smell food. There were sign hung up wall to wall saying things like, "Welcome home *****", and "You're home!" It was so clean, perfectly decorated, and a completely happy site, but he wasn't happy. Looking around at all of the things he once took for granted. All of the things that he would be taking for granted, if it weren't for the war.