"I saw Mom and Dad today. They are doing fine." My brother has just texted me photos of my parents' shared gravestone; my dad on one side and my mom on the other. I haven't visited it in over 15 years.
I scan my father's inscription. Under a cross and his name, it reads LTC, US ARMY, WORLD WAR II, KOREA, VIETNAM, NOV 27, 1925 – JUN 16, 2004. BSM W/OLC.
"I didn't know Dad was in Viet Nam," I text my brother. He replies, "He wasn't. We were in Germany and Fort Benning during the Vietnam War." I ponder why my dad's permanent record is wrong and that I didn't notice before. I wonder if I should pay to have it re-carved.
I realize I don't know what BSM W/OLC means. I Google OLC, and the first entry is "Outstanding Lead Climber," given to soldiers who have demonstrated exceptional skill and bravery in rock climbing. I have no memory of my father having anything to do with rocks other than when we visited the Grand Canyon and Carlsbad Caverns. I search further and finally come up with Bronze Star Medal with Oak Leaf Cluster. I think of my dad's dress uniform still hanging in my spare closet. It's covered with various medals and badges I never paid much attention to. I tried giving his uniform to a local museum or drama group, but no one seemed interested.
My mother's inscription on the back of the tombstone lists her name followed by "HIS WIFE, SEPT 9, 1925 – DEC 13, 2005. HER GREATEST JOY WAS GIVING TO OTHERS.
I think of my mom, who was so much more than "HIS WIFE." Who grew up as a New York farm girl but served in the Cadet Nurse Corps during WWII. Who worked as an ER nurse at Children's Hospital in San Francisco. I open the spare closet and pull out my mom's satin and lace wedding dress with its 22-inch waist. Other clothes from her stylish youth hang there, including two stone marten stoles with one creepy face biting the neck of the other.
I think about my parents, who are permanently etched in my memory. I remember my dad's outrageous sense of humor, how he could tell 1000s of jokes without getting any punchlines wrong, and how he stood up to his commanding officers and told them when they were wrong.
I remember my mom's ability to talk to absolutely anybody, how she spent ½ hour on the phone one evening talking to a wrong number. How she cooked feasts from around the world in an era where cream of-anything soup was considered haute cuisine. How she specialized in finding the perfect gift for everyone in her life.
I decide I don't need to have the tombstone re-carved since the essence of my parents is permanently recorded in my memory, at least while I am alive. After that, it probably doesn’t matter.
Mugsy, Macoff, Lkai, and DamielSouthGate. You are all incredible writers, and I appreciate interacting with you in this virtual permanent – impermanent world of zeros and ones. I hope to have another opportunity sometime in the future. - opelikakat
— opelikakat
I scan my father's inscription. Under a cross and his name, it reads LTC, US ARMY, WORLD WAR II, KOREA, VIETNAM, NOV 27, 1925 – JUN 16, 2004. BSM W/OLC.
"I didn't know Dad was in Viet Nam," I text my brother. He replies, "He wasn't. We were in Germany and Fort Benning during the Vietnam War." I ponder why my dad's permanent record is wrong and that I didn't notice before. I wonder if I should pay to have it re-carved.
I realize I don't know what BSM W/OLC means. I Google OLC, and the first entry is "Outstanding Lead Climber," given to soldiers who have demonstrated exceptional skill and bravery in rock climbing. I have no memory of my father having anything to do with rocks other than when we visited the Grand Canyon and Carlsbad Caverns. I search further and finally come up with Bronze Star Medal with Oak Leaf Cluster. I think of my dad's dress uniform still hanging in my spare closet. It's covered with various medals and badges I never paid much attention to. I tried giving his uniform to a local museum or drama group, but no one seemed interested.
My mother's inscription on the back of the tombstone lists her name followed by "HIS WIFE, SEPT 9, 1925 – DEC 13, 2005. HER GREATEST JOY WAS GIVING TO OTHERS.
I think of my mom, who was so much more than "HIS WIFE." Who grew up as a New York farm girl but served in the Cadet Nurse Corps during WWII. Who worked as an ER nurse at Children's Hospital in San Francisco. I open the spare closet and pull out my mom's satin and lace wedding dress with its 22-inch waist. Other clothes from her stylish youth hang there, including two stone marten stoles with one creepy face biting the neck of the other.
I think about my parents, who are permanently etched in my memory. I remember my dad's outrageous sense of humor, how he could tell 1000s of jokes without getting any punchlines wrong, and how he stood up to his commanding officers and told them when they were wrong.
I remember my mom's ability to talk to absolutely anybody, how she spent ½ hour on the phone one evening talking to a wrong number. How she cooked feasts from around the world in an era where cream of-anything soup was considered haute cuisine. How she specialized in finding the perfect gift for everyone in her life.
I decide I don't need to have the tombstone re-carved since the essence of my parents is permanently recorded in my memory, at least while I am alive. After that, it probably doesn’t matter.
Mugsy, Macoff, Lkai, and DamielSouthGate. You are all incredible writers, and I appreciate interacting with you in this virtual permanent – impermanent world of zeros and ones. I hope to have another opportunity sometime in the future. - opelikakat
— opelikakat
Thank you, Dahlin' ! Same here! I still have today's prompt to tackle. I'll probably wait until the sun has set; that's when I usually write. I do plan on signing up in the near future, possibly for the "Memoir" session (once again). I think if I do, that will be my 8th 40Days! ---Macoff
ReplyDeleteWow! 8!
DeleteForgot to say I was touched by this writing here, especially "the essence of my parents is permanently recorded in my memory, at least while I am alive. After that, it probably doesn’t matter" Though it's difficult to accept that at some point, it won't matter. ---Macoff
ReplyDeleteThis brought tears to my eyes. I hadnt thought of permanent record in terms of grave markers. Such beautiful writing.
ReplyDeleteI like this very much. It reminds me of Thich Nhat Hahn's concept of interbeing. Our parents and all those who touched our hearts live on through us. Thank you for your wonderful words, kind reading and commenting. A pleasure to be in the space with you.
ReplyDelete