War is hell.
Reg W. writes:I was very young when my dad died. He had come home from Korea in a wheelchair and I don't ever remember seeing him out of it. (My older sister tells me he would occasionally rise from it as a joke at parties, but that it took all of his strength to do so.)I was too little to know him well, but his brothers have served as father figures over the years and I somehow feel as though I knew him better than I did.It's a day that comes around that I sometimes barely think of, because mine has not been a military family. But this week I found myself at a church near where I live and I watched a military funeral at the far end of a cemetery. And I thought of my dad, and all the other folks who have served this country.
Thank you, Reg.
Yes, thank you.
Another thank you for the reminder that this is, after all, what the holiday (holyday, day of remembrance) is all about -- not the beginning of the beach/pool season, or barbecues, or mattress/appliance sales. Of course I'm marking it by sitting here trying to get together a course calendar, so I'm not in much of a position to throw stones at others' "improper" activities. Still, it's good to be reminded. I had the privilege of accompanying a relative who is a WWII veteran on a visit to that memorial a few months ago. He, of course, is one of the lucky ones; although I'm sure there are scars (more psychological than physical in his case), he got to come back and have a long and mostly happy life. Many others didn't.