It Was Just the Thing You Did When You Believed in Freedom

My uncle kept WWII in his heart until the day he died.

He didn't talk about it unless prodded,

and even then not much;

he'd saved the lives of several men he served with -

just the thing you did, you know,

this is America, after all, he would tell you,

worth every misery in every foxhole.

Freedom.

Like they say, not free.

There were medals and silence.

He died years ago,

fighting cancer from a private foxhole and losing.

The morphine took him back to war

and his silence was loosened,

his fears returned;

when my mother visited him in the nursing home,

she once found him in a supply closet

down the hall from his room.

Waiting for the enemy.

Ssshhh, he told her, they will hear.

Yes.

They will.

So let them hear our courage,

our belief in freedom,

our footsteps on the road.

Walking with conviction.

Walking with knowledge.

Walking with the ghosts of those who have given all.

Thank you.

Thank you all.