Author Confessions: Remembering the Dead
I never served in the military but my paternal grandfather did. Years ago, with the permission of my grandmother, I retyped and published a small book of my Grandpa’s writings from WWII where he served in India.
You can find the book here: Journey to Lekhipani: A G.I.’s Experiences in WWII. It is a short read and I’ve priced it as low as I possibly can. I’m not making money off of this book.
I’d like to think I got some of the writing gene from my grandpa, James B. Pollard. Until I read his writings I knew him as the kind man who would find ping pong balls for us when we would lose them in the basement of their house, or who helped me get behind-the-wheel hours, and then tried to talk my dad in to buying the car he was selling so I would have it! (My dad declined).
Reading his writings though reminded me that he, and the majority of those who served in WWII, were quite young, and in some ways immature. Not necessarily my grandfather who was already married and had two kids by the time he deployed. I wanted the book published so my kids, and grandkids and others would be able to understand the complex man he was, an some of what he went through which is only one little window into one life in wartime.
My grandmother couldn’t bear to talk about that period of time and never saved any of the letters she wrote him or he wrote to her. These writings were never mailed because he could be honest about troop movements and locations which could not be shared at that time. I still want to see a troop ship someday based on his description, the enormity of it is beyond my brain’s ability to grasp.
I still miss my grandpa. My grandmother and my father are now gone as well. Still, this Memorial Day, I remember him, and all those who have served. Especially those who died while serving, whether in the Revolutionary war or the current conflicts going on around the globe. That’s what today is for.
Of course, I will still thank any veteran (and their wife!) for their service if I come upon them. It is only right to do so. The life I have the privilege to live, worship, create, and build, here in the United States of America, is because of them.
Have a wonderful Memorial Day, and remember the dead who gave you the freedom to picnic, play, work, worship, and speak freely even if you disagree with the people who we vote (freely) to administer the gift that is our nation. It came at a high price and preserving it is still worth dying for.
Memorial Day is to remember those veterans who have died, whether during service or after. I found this short poem years ago and put it as my Facebook header every year at this time because Joseph Rodman Drake wrote it so beautifuly. “And they who for their country died shall fill and honored grave, for glory lights the soldier’s tomb and beauty weeps the brave.”
Grandpa lived to come home, have another child and raise his family and lived to see grandchildren. So many others never got that opportunity. My grandmother never spoke about the war to her children and didn’t save the letters she exchanged with her husband during that time. It was too painful. My father said that as a child the Army stuff was stashed in a corner of the garage. After his death, however, with military honors, the flag was in a box and kept as a momento by her until she too passed away.
My publisher has been promoting my novel,