View single post by in media res
 Posted: Wed Jan 17th, 2018 08:57 am
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in media res


Joined: Sun Jul 2nd, 2006
Posts: 1961

My Dear Lady.
And I do mean Lady.
Not the generic “Woman.”
You are 104.
Two days ago you died.
How many are there left who will cry?
Or even could cry?

It will be a small funeral.

Your husband was a Marine on Iwo Jima.
Silver Star.
He never talked about it.
None of them ever did.
They just drank.
And laughed.
And laughed.
And worked hard.
And laughed
And drank.
To hold the sorrows and horrors at bay.

And they worked hard.
And raised good kids.
Sent them to school.

But no one ever cried.
In public.
Maybe a few.
I saw one once.
Instantaneous sobbing.
Five of his friends chased after him
And held him down
Till he stopped the retching and sobbing
Of whatever horrors
Were in his head.

But, back then, everyone knew
Someone who went
Even I knew.
As a little shit
Many who went.

Your Husband
A friend of my father,
Also a Vet.

And I worked with your son
A Viet Nam Vet.
Silver Star.
My dad hired us on Road Construction
For years to pay for college.
Him: Notre Dame.
My Brother: Scholarship Notre Dame
Me: Local College
Good Irish Catholic.
I will see your son on Saturday.

Maybe for the last time.
It’s not like we were friends
Or that we live closely
But I will “Show Up!”
90% of success in life is Showing Up!
Duty and Respect...Call.

And the same goes for Death.

We share…a parental History.
And they were close.

And we are not close
But we both Understand.
And we show up!

The Bonds of Heritage are deep.
Though not always frequent.

But we will both know
In our firm handshake
The history and all what went before us.
For now, over a hundred years.
We just know.
The tight-lipped Irish.

And, just like our Fathers.
We will share a drink!
Or drinks.

And never talk about
Any of it.