Image for a moment, you are twenty-eight years old and landing on the coast of a foreign country. Surrounding you is complete carnage. There is evidence all around that a lot of men have died where your troop carrier drops its gate and ejects you onto a crater ridden beach. A Sherman tank awaits you and the rest of your crew. You have no idea that over the next several months you and your buddies will be engaged in most of the major battles of the war as General Patton pushes his third army across Europe. You’ll experience things you will never speak about. You’ll come to believe that if you don’t talk about them, they will quit haunting your dreams. They won’t. You’ll be the tank’s gunner. The noise will be indescribable. You will lose a lot of your hearing. You will liberate work camps, rescue an orphaned child, befriend a small dog and write numerous letters home to your widowed mother instructing her how to run the farm while making her believe you are fine.

But you’ve just landed on that blood stained beach and you don’t know any of this yet.

That was July 1944. Seventy-five years have passed. You’ve been gone over forty-three years now and I wish I could thank you for what you did. You’ve been gone so long I can hardly remember the sound of your voice. I’m sorry you and all the others had to experience that war, but I am grateful for what you accomplished. I just hope the generations to come can honor your sacrifice and keep your descendants safe. Thank you Daddy. You are not forgotten.

_______________
Rick Algood
November 11, 2019