Winter 1944 or 1945

The flag that hung in my mother’s home as her brothers Richard and Ross served in the military.

Today I open the cardboard box my mother gave me–
Peruse the photo album from WW1, France, Germany.
Photos of the trenches–a battlefield–death.
Young smiling men–among them a grandfather I never knew.
A well worn history of the First US Engineers.  A 125% casualty rate.
A Commendation for my grandfather’s valor.

A photo album from the Aleutians in WW2.
Handwritten notes of his tour of duty–“forced landing.”
Uncle Richard avoided flying except once when very frail, he flew to see his brother.
His military ring–misshapen and worn by his large hands which always brought huge stuffed animals to his nieces at Christmas–was in the bottom of the box.

A photo–Worcester, MA  1944.
My grandfather, a widower stands in a suit with his four children.
He didn’t talk about the war but now I know he was at the reunion in Washington in 1925.
I heard a story that Uncle Jack was in an elevator and the black elevator operator recognized him; was it just that he was a spitting image of his father?  “I was with your father in the trenches; he didn’t leave us,” the elevator operator’s voice cracked.
(But the military was segregated… I wonder)
Uncle Richard–strong and handsome in his army uniform.
Uncle Ross, a lanky sailor, ready to ship out with the navy.
The twins, my mother and uncle, a head shorter, well dressed for what may have been the last time all the children were together with their father.

Throughout the war, the two star flag hung in the window.
Two brothers serving our country, sons of a man who saw active combat.
In my mother’s box,  I found the photo of the flag in the window and I found the flag.
Tears found me.

My mother grew up in that home full of love and laughter
and later grief as the twins mourned the death of their mother and later their father;
I imagine her sadness and worry as she looked out the window through that star-studded flag wondering why her brother Richard’s letters had stopped coming.

On Veterans Day, I remember those
Who put their lives on the line
Who saw and see bloodshed
Who learn to kill for what we pray is a greater good.

I remember mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, friends
who prayed and worried and knit wool socks and kept the home front going.

I pray for peace and reconciliation.

I put the photo albums, letters, and discharge papers back in the cardboard Michelob box and try to pen this post.  Time wipe away the tears, let go of the questions, and cook supper.  Blessings and thanks to veterans and their families. Blessings and thanks for all who work for peace.