It has been only three days since Memorial Day, but for some strange reason it feels like a year ago.
I was thinking a lot about my granddad, John Henry Kelly. He didn’t die in a war, but he fought valiantly in World War II as a ball turret gunner. Before he died, he took a writing class and put together a treasure for those of us who loved him. He wrote his memoirs which comprised his memories of falling in love with a girl named Kay Shill, of being called to battle, of facing enemy combat,of watching his friends and fellow soldiers die and then coming home and becoming a father.
He had never really talked about that time in his life, to me anyway, but on his desk in basement of his condo, on was a photo of the boys he flew with. I often looked at that photo. I was drawn to it.
Here it is. My granddad is in the second row, third from the left.
I am grateful for his courage and for the courage of every soldier that has fought to defend the wonderful freedom I take for granted every day.
We took Millie to hear a tribute at one of the memorials in our little village. It was beautiful. Millie said to us, “I feel sad that the people died.”
We watched our little community parade where we were able to stand up and cheer for our local veterans – it felt so good to honor them. And I was so happy when every one stood up as they passed. Good to know that despite the fact that everyone in NJ seems to be perpetually grumpy they do know how to show love and respect for our country’s noble veterans.
The parade was short and sweet. Really it was very, very sweet. I got a little choked up.
When the Harley dudes showed up Millie turned to me and said, “Oh, Mom! Just like Roman Holiday!”
When it was all over we headed for home.
To a fridge that had died.
I’ll save that story for another day. It was not very fun and rather stressful to deal with. But all’s well that ends well – we have a new fridge in our kitchen as I type.
At the end of the day we headed over to the Riches for a BBQ, and it was swell. (Thanks again, Mike and Em!)