my great-grandfather was a war hero first and a family man second. nothing else mattered to him.
he was 19 when he left to fight over in Europe, on the front lines. While his friends got married and partied, he fought for the sake of Australia.
70 years later, after getting married and having kids, five of them, and then 10 grand kids and then 11 great- grandkids, and 8 more that he never got to meet, he often sat me on his lap when I was a child and brush my hair, telling me the stories of him and his buddies, he showed me his medals and his scars, and years later I found out he never talked to anyone else about it he never showed anyone else.
he would smile but now that I think about it now, the memories kept him up at night. I heard him weep for his fallen bodies after everyone had gone to bed.
now, ten years after his death do I recall him sitting me down one night, the night before he died. and he said something that I didn’t understand until exactly ten years later "if you remember one thing about me, remember that if I knew that those years in the trenches would lead me to where I am now, with my children, grandchildren and great- grandchildren, I would do it a thousand times over. and when I die, I know you will uphold the values of love, strength, courage, and family. I know you will lead your generation of family into one of those traits. because I will always be proud of you. I will always look down on you and say, "there's my little Elly, always a fighter" always be strong, always remember I love you." He was saying goodbye.
I should have known he was dying, I wished I said goodbye but instead, like always I drifted off to sleep in his arms. I wish I stayed awake and talked to him, I wish I spent more time with him. If only I could just spend a few hours speaking with him now, I know he would give me the courage to fix up the mess I made. Because I am not sure that he’s proud of me right now.
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