I recently met a fellow at church. He had never really known his father, but I did.
His dad was the most decorated veteran of WW II in our county. He fought in the Pacific Theater. History has recorded the ferocity of the fighting there. He was an alcoholic. As a recovering drunk myself (31 years sober now), I tried to help him however possible. I took him to the VA hospital several times. I saved him from freezing once, and we fed him many times when he had nothing to eat and nowhere to go. He knew that he was always welcome at our home. Old Fred was never right in his mind during the entire time that I knew him, but he was always respectful and gentle with my family. Fred now resides in a cemetery, a stone's throw or two away from my house.
Fred Jr. never knew his dad because his dad never recovered from the memories of what he was forced to do to other human beings in order to survive himself. The only way that he knew to cope was to stay as drunk as possible on a continual basis. Fred's wife had to abandon him soon after his return from service, because he would wake at night with flashbacks and he would awake with very violent reactions, before realizing that he was home and safe.
Fred survived the war physically, but he gave everything in service to his country. He gave up his family, his sobriety, his sanity, and his peace of mind.
He once told me through his tears..."It would have been better for us all, if I had been killed in action".
When I told his son that I had known his father, Fred Jr. acted as if he could have cared less.
I miss Fred, even though he could be a real pain in my rear.
Merry Christmas, Fred. I hope you may rest in peace...finally.
