He stood alone… Till Valhalla

Utter complexity and depth…

I need to know what stole my father…
Although knowing he loved me,
His own way…
He was absent, beyond his control

Beyond my control
Where was, he and why?
Was he still there?
With his band of brothers….

How many times I looked at him,
My hero, strong and silent
And wanted to know his thoughts
Wanted him to BE WITH ME

Why did he rarely speak?
I can’t recall a sentance
I still remember “the look”…
And the quiet strength

So now to understand…
Can this ever be put to rest?
The need to walk with my father,
Try to imagine, feel, understand…

…be there
I must also bleed,
Anger, fear, trauma… loss
This will be raw, it must be

The pain may heal me,
Could it heal us both?

Although not holding his hand,
He walks beside me
From Normandy to the Eagle’s nest
For I am his son, his only

Prayers it makes a difference
A shift, understanding, hope, desire
Somewhere, to someone
It must be worth it

In so many ways…
I AM NOW my father…

And there are others
How could there not be?

Because
I am the son of a hero…
A war hero with PTSD