In Memoriam

A number of years ago Easter fell on April 8th, the anniversary of the day my father lost his life in WWII. He was 23 years old, as was my mother. I was 3 months. Periodically, I re-post this and since today is Memorial Day in the USA, I thought I would share it here.

p1020550

April Eighth

An article in the Smithsonian
alluded to the Holy
Shroud of Turin.
The image of Christ
seared radiologically
into a burial cloth.
A violent burst of energy.
A life-seed
in a closed space
blowing out boundaries.
Stories of an empty tomb.

Easter comes early
this year.
Daffodils explode in
the front garden,
sheltered by a warm wall.

April eighth,
nineteen forty-four.
A seed plummets to earth,
wrapped in a metal
death-womb.
Ejaculated from heaven,
it burrows into dank soil.
Buried.
Fragmented.
Combusted in another
surge of energy.

Months go by:
a year to the day.
Someone in the
War Department
types the letter on
a piece of onion-skin paper.
Words smudged by an
over-used ribbon tell
the woman to move on with her life.
The child will never call him
daddy.

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10 thoughts on “In Memoriam

  1. lynn__ says:

    There seem to be no words for such sacrifice…just humbled gratitude.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. She was blessed to remarry when I was 7…a wonderful, loving husband and father to me.

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  3. kanzensakura says:

    Oh Victoria. How this makes my heart ache. How it makes me think of the photo you posted on your FB of the young woman with her baby lying on the grave of her husband. My father only told me once of the DDday landing…only once. He wept for his heart was broken that day.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Toni. Yes, the WWII vets didn’t talk about their pain; PTSD wasn’t really recognized. My dad’s crew all survived and were taken POW. I almost think they were worse off than he was. Mom stayed in contact with the wife of one and he had a “nervous breakdown.” My dad was killed instantly, before the plane went down. They would take out the pilots. He was shot, decapitated.

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      • kanzensakura says:

        Oh how horrible to hear to that. I cannot imagine what that did to your mother. No, PTSD was often called “shell shock” and wasn’t truly addressed. My father went back to his family’s farm for a few years until his older brother introduced him to my mother. I like that we made him happy.

        Liked by 1 person

        • My mother suppressed it. When my adoptive father died, she asked me to research his death. I got tons of information. I took it down for her to see. When she started to look at it, she closed the box and said that she remembered now, she didn’t want to relive it. That generation was so stalwart. I’m glad your father had you, his family.

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  4. whimsygizmo says:

    Oh, Victoria. This brought me to tears. So beautifully written, and just so sad. I am so thankful for his service, and so sorry you never got to meet him.

    Liked by 1 person

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