November 11, 2014

A Jawas Veterans Day 2014

So it was this spring on a Sunday morning I knocked on my hero's door.

A few days earlier we had sat together, talking as we always had. He asking to stay just a little longer, me having to go too soon again. A familiar dance we all know.

He said he loved me, which we seldom felt the need to say. I said it back and promised emphatically that I'd be back Sunday. We exchanged a look that we both knew his failing heart might not make it even those few days. But we smiled at each other anyway, hugged and carried on, just like he'd shown me how to do.

When I arrived on Sunday, the door was still closed, the dog barking. Grandma having passed a few years back. I knew the jig was up.

I looked over and steadied the eldest of the now fourth generation with me. These things happen. And I made the calls to his daughters.

The aunts came, disarmed the Jack Russel terrier for the coroner.

A few days later I jumped in my chair at the sound of the 21 gun salute for my WWII veteran.

I've heard many shots, but none like those. They handed my mother the flag. And the long struggle was finished.

Because they are not responsible just for our freedom. It was so much more that the greatest of men gave us. All of us. For those of you who knew them I need not say another word. You already know.

So today I spent mostly muted, grateful and missing him.

So please Vets, pardon me for not getting this post earlier.

And thanks for your service, and thanks to the men, now all passed, who not only became his brothers but made sure our vet made it back to us.

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RIP Short Man. 40th Division, 108th Infantry, 251st Station Hospital.

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You are sorely missed. Today and every day.

By Howie at 09:19 PM | Comments |