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Now as I pondered it all, I realized that neither that day nor any day afterward had our family discussed national allegiance and the glory or non glory of men going to war. There was a lingering pride mixed with sadness after Richard left and through his entire absence.
Richard's safe return a year and some months later was no surprise to me. The thought never entered my mind that he might not come back. My Dad was the last to hug him hello. His voice cracked as he said, "I'm very proud of you son." Those words lifted the gloom and burst the dam of sadness. Our family was laughing and back to living life.
That summer night of reverie passed and I hadn't thought much about my reflections again until a few years later as I drove to the hospital to sit with Richard. He was dying from cancer. Sitting by his bedside, we chatted about this and that. Without any specific intention, I turned the conversation to his military experiences. I shared my impressions of the day of the Battalion's parade. We laughed at my memories of the boots. I innocently mentioned that I didn't remember his ever discussing what had happened in Korea. It was quiet and then in less than flowing sentences, he told me of assignments, weather conditions, the Korean people he had come to know, and then his voice trailed off to silence. After a few moments I asked how many in his Battalion had returned. His response was slow in coming and then he began forming curious words to paint a picture harbored within him for so long: horrible weather and combat conditions, intense enemy fire, soldiers falling. As he spoke, his most horrific memory began to unfold of how his best friend jumped out of a fox hole just in front of him. Lurching backward, he began crashing into Richard. Richard grabbed him and instinctively pulled his friend's face toward him. It was gone! His face was gone and part of his skull was gone as well. "He was dead," Richard said flatly and there--there was that same face I had seen in the parade. Then it changed. Tears welled up in his eyes and he sobbed. Insignificant tears slipped down my cheeks as I cradled him in my arms for a long time.
Our soldier returned, blessed with the opportunity to enjoy home and family and of utmost importance, freedom. He, along with so many others, had served his country well and returned with deep unseen wounds. I had caught a feeble glimpse of the depth of the unseen wounds and horrors of war.
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Wounds
Unseen: Page 1 > Page 1,
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