Sunday, May 26, 2019

Remembering

 It was 41 years ago today that I lost my dad.  It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, I was called home just in time to see him being taken in the ambulance.  I knew he was gone when I saw him, I didn't know how.  I was 13 years old.  He was 53 years old.  In a few weeks I will be 54, and it has been on my mind a lot.  You see, in a twist of fate this was a repeat of family history as my grandfather, my dad's dad, died early too, when my dad was 13 years old.  Both he and I share the story of coming of age without a father.

There is something fitting however that Memorial day will always be linked to my dad's memory.  As a teen, my dad joined the army during World War II fighting to liberate Europe from the Nazis and later traveling half way around the world to prepare for the invasion of Japan that never happen.  He did however get to Japan, and then Korea, where he fought and nearly died being shot, filled with shrapnel, and spent some time as a prisoner of the Chinese.  He did not die on the battlefields he fought on, but I feel like the totality of the hard life he had contributed to his early death.

We often think that each generation should have a better life than the one before.  I would have to say by every measure people usually use,  my life has been that.  While I have had both tragedy and struggle, nothing matches the years my dad had from his late teens through his 20s.  But I am proud my dad was part of what has been called the greatest generation.  I sometimes feel in awe of him, he fought to rid the world of the evil of Nazism and fascism.  He answered the call when the military was seen as a wall against Communist expansion.  His bravery and sense of duty is far more than I think I could ever muster myself.   I never got to talk to my dad man-to-man.  He was gone before I was a man.  I think the first thing I would do is thank him for dedicating so much of his life to preserving American values.  I am sorry I never got the chance to do that.

For me Memorial Day will always be linked to my dad's death.  I will always think of the conversations we never had, how I could never tell him how he influenced parts of what I became, to learn about the stories of his youth in the infantry, and of course to argue about my own rebellion.  But I take a minute every year to remember the man, his image is fading, more so since I lost my mom.  But he is still part of who I am.  Francis Oscar Kelley may not be a name that history will record with any fanfare, but for me, his short life was powerful, important and shouldn't be forgotten.  As we remember those that lost their lives in direct service, please indulge to remember a man who gave so much of his life to the country.  I still miss him.




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