what we leave within….

“I wish I could talk to your Dad.”

This as we watched the History Channel, eating a late dinner.  The program topic was the Vietnam War, no doubt in tribute to Veteran’s Day.  Neither hubby nor I have served in the armed forces, but we know a multitude of people who do, or who have. Hubby had watched part of the History Channel program in the wee hours of the morning before, unable to sleep, and had been extremely touched by what he saw and heard.  

We were children when the families and friends of our parents sent their young men off to Vietnam. Hubby tells me that he really had no exposure to or knowledge of the war then; that came as he read and heard the stories later in life.  My parents’ best friends had a son who served.  We were there one of his last nights at home, and there when he came home again.  I remember the night I asked my mother if he would die at the war. I still have the birthday card he sent me while he was “over there.”  I remember writing him a letter; I remember the letter we received announcing “the kid is coming home.”  I remember the day we watched the gravel road for his car, and his mother running down the sidewalk to meet him.

I am the child of a veteran.  Daddy was 17 years old when he was drafted, during World War II.  He served in France and Germany.  He wasn’t a combat soldier, but still he saw and heard things more foreign than the land to which he was transplanted for two years of his life.  He, and many others like him, were part of the Greatest Generation of which Tom Brokaw so eloquently speaks.  One thought from the History Channel documentary ties the generations together; in any war, the young men and women who serve are the greatest of their generation.  If Daddy were here, I’m sure he’d agree.

A brick in Daddy’s name at the local Veteran’s memorial and a marker at the foot of his grave commemorate his military service.  The friend of our family, who came safely home from Vietnam so long ago, has a similar marker at the foot of his grave.  He died of an anuerysm, in the prime of his life, leaving his family and friends all too soon.  Five months later, my own mother left us all too soon as well.  

My heart melts to this day when hubby says, “I miss your Mom and Dad.”  I miss them, too.  I miss my old friend.  I wish I could tell him I pulled out that birthday card today, the one with the military return address on the envelope and “thinking of you” written inside, a reminder of that far away place in history.

They, and so many like them, are gone but never forgotten.  Each of us who loved them carries a part of them with us.  I have Daddy’s eyes and square jaw. As I age, I also find evidence of his grit and determination. Daddy stood strong for what he thought was right and fair.  I often look back to his experiences, especially in the workplace, when faced with decisions of my own.  I have my mother to thank for my love of music, reading, and writing, and for the clerical skills that launched my career and that I still use to this day.  I can look from this chair and see evidence of Daddy’s and Mother’s hard work: the coffee table from my childhood, the Bible they gave me for sixteenth birthday, tangible evidence of their love and care.  And yet, the greatest evidence is not in what I can see, but in who they were, and who I am.  

What we leave isn’t nearly as important as what we leave within.