I think he lived well and loved well for all those that didn't get the opportunity to live out their dreams like get married and have children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. He helped to form the local VFW Post soon after he was discharged and worked hard to remember his fallen comrades. It was his idea to rename the streets in town during Memorial Day week after the deceased, " a means of keeping Veterans names and sacrifices in our memories."
We who are left behind will miss the way he was forever correcting our grammar, or his willingness to feed our pets when we were away, or sing funny songs at the dinner table, or bicker with Gram over every little thing. We'll miss his stories and his ability to remember in such detail. I especially will miss his hands. He had the nicest hands so soft and smooth and spongy even though he was working in the garden up until just a couple weeks ago.
Someday there will be no more World War II veterans left. All those grandpops and great grandpops will answer the final call. May their "great grands" never forget to honor their memory or remember the sacrifices they and their fellow comrades made.
I came across this poem by an unknown Civil War poet, he offers the same sentiment:
Each year some comrade takes his place among the shadows in the time
And thus the living ranks grow thin Ah few must be the years at most
Before we all are mustered in to serve among the silent host.
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