One, my grandfather, Clare came home to hold me in his lap and march in many Memorial Day Parades. He marched with his son, my dad, left in the photograph, honoring veterans who gave their lives in service.
Silently, as he marched in step with fellow soldiers from many conflicts he may have thought back through the decades. Back to a tragic September 1918 day in the muddy front lines in France. The day his older brother Leon succumbed to his battle wounds. They were not fighting in the same sector that day, but hearing the news, my grandfather rushed to Leon's stretcher in an aide station. At first they thought Leon might only lose a leg, but his internal injuries were too grave and he died with my lovely grandfather by his side. As the text in the photo explains, he was formally buried in France in a beautiful American Cemetery, one I visited in the late 70s. Eventually, by ship and train his remains were escorted home, repatriated to Hanover, where he is buried in our historic cemetery.
For the Record,
This day came in cloudy and warm. Rain is on the way to end our beautiful stretch of weather I'm afraid.
All hands wary of the virus and the tyrant who is still refusing to concede.
I retired from public school teaching after happily spending twenty eight years playing in Kindergarten. Now I fill my days watching cat antics, taking endless...
