He was old when the war began
Older still when it ended
Now he greets each new day in the same way. In the same ritual - honoring the heroes of the old wars and the great leaders who served to make the world a better place.
He pauses in Lincoln’s temple to say a prayer for his brothers. They, like himself, returned from the war with the essence of each battle deep inside their souls. They had survived but the old man never thought them to be the lucky ones.
He walks by the water – the reflections in the pool are like a view into another world.
…maybe a world where it was different
…where men didn’t fight and kill each other
…where men didn’t have to fight
But that was not this world. Still, he was not bitter, nor angry. And he would do it all again - for duty, for honor and for his brothers.
The Old Man made promises. Long ago promises – of certain things to be done for those who called him father... a title he cherished... as he cherished his calling to serve and bless. And in the end they called upon him to remember them. And finish their unfinished duties.
A note to deliver, photos for a son or daughter, a journal, a father’s last embrace to a baby he would never see. A wife’s letters tied in a red ribbon...now returned home. The symbols of war- medals and citations- for fathers who missed their sons…but had no words to speak their grief.
Some requests were strange. All were difficult - a wrong to make right, an amends to offer, a debt to repay. All brought peace – one task at a time.
Years passed. The Old Man did his duty…and came day by day to the wall. He came early in the morning quiet so he could hear their voices. He heard the echoes of their laughter; their shouts of warning and command. He heard them cry out in pain for themselves and weep for their fallen brothers.
Sometimes he saw their faces – in the soft black reflections of the polished granite. And when it rained it was the tears of 50,000 warriors weeping for the world.
To be continued…
