This Memorial weekend, let?s remember how war can wound the souls of our veterans. I am talking about my own father, although other veterans share similar feelings.
Please remember veterans this weekend, and what they did for all of us.
For five decades of my life, Dad only talked about the happier war stories with comrades. He was in the World War II invasion of North Africa, the invasion of Sicily, the invasion of Italy on Anzio, and the campaign up Italy, where he saw the bodies of Mussolini and his mistress hanging in the square, still being abused and spat on by angry Italians.
I knew Dad was in army ordinance but I didn?t know he was in ordinance recovery, which put him in the front line, and sometimes even beyond that, with a small recovery unit.
He described to me once in later years how he and the other members of a small team, alone far beyond their lines, had been overjoyed to find a barn to sleep in after months with little shelter outside.
What they didn?t know was that there were German soldiers hiding in the loft of the barn who got very little sleep that night with the Americans sleeping below them. When the Americans roused themselves in the morning, a German lowered his rifle, butt first, and loudly proclaimed in German that they were surrendering. The Americans figured it out, and took them prisoner.
One day a relative confided to my dad as I sat listening that he had killed more than 100 Germans in combat, but he was starting, in his late 60s, to have dreams about only one of them?a woman shooting at the Americans from an upstairs window.
?I got a bead on her face, fired, and it blew her face to pieces. That?s what I?m seeing, night after night.?
When he left, I remarked on his sharing, and my father replied, ?And I saw even more than he did.?
One day I was visiting Dad in the rest home. We had been watching PBS together when they came on with a new program, a documentary with film footage of the Battle of Monte Casino. They hadn?t announced what the battle was yet, but Dad recognized it.
Dad had spent the last half of his life not wanting to see any films dealing with the war, so I automatically asked if I should turn it off.
He replied, ?No, that?s Monte Casino. I saw the whole thing. In a minute, big waves of airplanes will come in to bomb. I didn?t think they would ever stop.?
One day he told me he wouldn?t last much longer. I tried to comfort him, and ended by saying that at least he would see my mother and other relatives in heaven.
He said, ?I don?t know about that. I think I probably will be going to hell. I?ve killed (people in war).?
I couldn?t say much, so I wrote this poem for him that is in my third book.
Another veteran, of the Korean War this time, used to take the framed copy of this poem from my Dad?s room to his room, where we learned he just held it, and rocked in a chair.
Here it is for you in the afterglow of Memorial Day. It?s titled ?Oh my father.?
*?*?*
Oh my Father,
what am I to say to you
who woke with
the thousands of dead
around you many mornings,
so much so,
that you tell me,
being around the dead
doesn?t bother you.
I fear death
as I know we all do,
even with faith,
as you must too,
because you tell me
the Ten Commandments include
?Thou shalt not kill,?
so you must be going to hell,
you say.
?
Oh my Father,
I know in my heart of hearts,
the discernment knowledge,
that Lord Jesus Christ
has a special place for you
for the nobility of soul
that sacrificed for all of us,
listed most reliable
in a high school yearbook,
known for reliability,
gentle wisdom,
and your incredible honesty,
your entire life.
Your human soul
more valued
in our living God?s eyes
than any nation,
yet you were uplifted
for being willing
to lay your life down.
?
Oh my Father,
what can I say
when I was a protected one
while you saw friends
die before the Viche guns,
saw the crushing defeat of Kasserine,
then went from Tunis
up the bloody spine of Sicily
for Patton?s glory,
went under the blasts from Bertha
for the nights on Anzio,
where you learned to say
?When it?s your time to go,
it’s your time to go.?
You saw the horror
on Monte Casino,
then went into Rome
into Florence,
throughout the valley of the Po.
You saw Mussolini
and his mistress
hanging in the square,
more than 20 days dead,
awful pieces of meat.
From another man?s stiffened fingers,
you took your Luger.
?
Oh my Father,
you who saw
a thousand years of death
in only four of war,
need to know
you are saved by the grace
of our ever-living God,
and not judged
by what you did in war
or as a good man afterward.
But what can I say
without being your weeping child again,
for you to comfort again,
for you were given
dominion over me,
and it was me
who grew up in peace
under the steadfast protection
of one who knew
the worst tragedies
of our turning terrible
but beautiful world.
?
Oh Father,
save my Father,
and give him the peace
that passes understanding.