The 11th day of the 11th month at 11am....some call it Remembrance Day. In the United Sttaes, where we live, we call it Veterans Day.
Thursday, I honored my mother. Today, I honor all veterans, including my spouse and my father.
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| Veterans Memorial Endicott, New York, undated, by me |
My spouse joined the military in his early 20's. He spent four years in service (all domestic) and our journey during those years took us from Florida to Texas to Kansas. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say those years shaped us. It was quite an education, and I am grateful for it.
I was what they called a military dependent for those four years. It was an interesting experience and an eye opener. I've not blogged too much about those years. Perhaps, I should.
Then, there was my father.
Yesterday was the 58th anniversary of the untimely death of my mother. I
was raised after that point by my father. In those days there was little support for single fathers.
My late father suffered a traumatic brain injury during his World War II (non-combat) service with the Army Air Corp, and lived with seizures and other side effects for the rest of his life. After he came back from war he found it near impossible to find employment, a fate that too many veterans of our modern wars suffer. For a time, he ran a newsstand with another veteran. Finally, he found a civil service job but was never able to rise too high in the ranks, due to his disability.
I never saw a trace of bitterness in my father although I know life was not always kind to him.
Which brings me to this poem.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
John McCrae
...I'm sorry to hear about your father.
ReplyDeleteThanks to your father and husband (and you) for their service.
ReplyDeleteWonderful poem. I’m sure your father was proud of his service to this country.
ReplyDeleteLest we forget
ReplyDeleteAlso sorry about your dad.
ReplyDeleteCoffee is on
A very lovely post. I visited Flanders Fields many years ago. My father rarely talked about his wartime experiences in India and Germany. I just have some old photos he took.
ReplyDeleteIt's a good day to remember.
ReplyDeletePraises to your Husby and to your father! I'm thinking, now, of the countless veterans who, like your dad, carried on, despite the horrendous toll--mental and physical--they suffered due to their service. Bless them!
ReplyDelete