Many of the stories we see and hear today on Memorial Day are heart-warming stories of heroism, of bravery, and of the ultimate sacrifice given by so many men and women in our Armed Forces throughout the years. These are the stories we are honored to recollect as they remind us that our freedom is not free and for at least one day of the year, we stop and pause and pay tribute to these brave soldiers. But not all of the stories are honorable. Not all of the stories are recognized as heroic, brave, or sacrificial. Many of the stories are never even told. Today, I have been remembering one such story, and today, I believe it is time to tell it ~ the story of one forgotten soldier ~ my grandfather.
I never really knew much about my grandfather, and what I do remember, I would rather forget. He smoked cigars; he drank hard and long, and from what I’ve been told, had a mean temper when he was drinking. I remember my family going to pick him up from his trailer house one Christmas Eve so that he wouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone only to find the trailer empty with a gun and half-gone whiskey bottle left behind. The park manager told my dad the police had hauled him off to sober up in jail. He passed away in 1982, virtually alone. I was 11 years old. I went through the rest of my life believing that my grandfather was just an alcoholic who couldn’t get his life together.
It wasn’t until my own husband had joined the Army and was deployed to Iraq in 2007 that I learned so much more about him. He wasn’t just an alcoholic. He was a soldier ~ a soldier who had lived with heartache, loneliness, fear, and guilt all those years since the war…a man who desperately needed help at a time when the rest of society didn’t understand the price that he had paid fighting for America’s freedoms.
Drafted in the spring of 1943, he served in the Army Air Corps as a mechanic, cook, and truck driver. He was stationed in the Philippines and saw and heard things that no man should ever have to endure. One night my grandfather, carrying an officer, another NCO, and a number of other soldiers, drove in a convey from one base to another. Suddenly, the Japanese began strafing the convoy, and just as one of the planes began to pull up, the enemy launched a rocket headed directly for my grandfather’s truck. As time seemed to pass in slow-motion, my grandfather and the captain sitting in the front passenger seat saw the rocket and were able to jump out of the vehicle to safety, watching in horror as the rest of the truck was blown up, killing all the remaining soldiers. After spending a couple of weeks recovering from the incident, my grandfather continued to serve in the Philippines until the end of the war…V-J Day, August 1945.
Fast forward several years to the Korean Conflict. My grandfather, unable to find steady work, re-enlisted in the Army and worked as a drill instructor at an Army training base in the New Jersey/New York area. At the height of the war, one of his groups was called up to fight and because of the dire need, my grandfather received orders to go with this platoon he had just trained although he had already put in discharge papers. After traveling from New Jersey to San Diego where he was ready to board the ship to Korea, the discharge papers came through, and my grandfather was released, making his way back to New Jersey to be with his family. Unfortunately, the entire platoon that he had trained was lost on the battlefield in Korea, with the exception of one soldier who came home a paraplegic.
My grandfather never truly recovered from these experiences. He spent the rest of his life trying to find a reason why he should have survived when all of his comrades lost their lives. And because of this endless search, he, in a way, lost his own life, too…a casualty of war…a sacrifice for his country and his family.
I am so sorry that I never knew these stories until he was gone although I’m not sure I would truly have understood until my own family faced war in a personal way. I wish that I had the opportunity to love him, to tell him thank you, to show compassion, and to tell him that he was very brave. I wish that I had the chance to understand this man who was so misunderstood by everyone around him, who was searching for understanding himself.
Memorial Day is a time to remember and honor those who have lost their lives while serving in the United States Armed Forces, but for today, this Memorial Day, I will honor a man who lost his life because he served. I love you, Grandpa…and I am proud of you!
Choosing Life 
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