Gefreiter Schulz wrote his final letter in the snow, his fingers too cold to feel the pencil.
"Mother,
I don't think I'm going to make it. The cold is too much. The Russians are too close. I've done my best, but my best isn't enough.
I want you to know I tried. I tried so hard to come home. Every step was toward you, even when I didn't know where I was going.
Remember me in the garden. Remember me in the kitchen. Remember me as the boy who loved you, not the soldier who died.
I love you. I'll always love you. Even in the snow, even at the end, you're the warmth I carry.
Your