Just Let Go It is early Sunday morning, the coffee smells fresh, and the pancakes have just hit the griddle. Barry McGuire’s, “Eve of Destruction,” is playing subtly and staticky, from our old stand up Zenith, in the background, while mother twirls around in her apron, cooking our breakfast. My mother loves to cook and listen to music early on Sunday. It is a little easier now that my brother is gone, and off to war. It was so hard to send him off, but now that he has been gone for six months, neither my mother or I, expect to wake-up in the morning, and see him there. Hearing the lyrics to the song on the radio, I can only imagine, what my brother is going through, “You don't believe in war, but what's that gun you're totin', And even the