Grandpa hides a small box of still-shiny medals away in a drawer where no one can find them.
“War is hell,” he said flatly.
He won’t talk about the war. He never saw combat. He said it was terrible, whatever he saw.
It was 1943, the height of World War II. At seventeen, my grandfather Bill and his classmates skipped out of classes at West High to join the navy. D-Day in June of 1944 did not end the fight against the Japanese in the South Pacific where he was stationed. The liberation campaign only began in the fall of 1944, ending when fighting stopped on August 15, 1945. My grandfather served until 1946, when on July 4th the US granted the Philippines independence.
My grandmother Zola and her sisters took turns in the kitchen, frying bacon in a black skillet to conceal the scent of tobacco smoke wafting from their boyfriends’ nostrils, hiding the sin from their father. Bill had returned home and planned to continue his naval career. His plans were interrupted as he and my grandmother married unexpectedly in the Salt Lake County courthouse on January 18, 1947.
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I watched grandpa warm Sunday afternoons the summer I turned sixteen as he fasted, reaching heavenward for inspiration to bestow the blessings of a loving Father in Heaven, while he served as stake Patriarch. He taught me to love classical music, encouraged me to ask gospel questions, and taught me that counting my blessings would help me sleep. He lovingly told me, “No, your father should do it,” when I asked him to baptize me when I turned eight.
Yards of bustled raw silk crinkled and swished as I moved through the celestial room of the Salt Lake temple on my wedding day. I paused with my grandparents and mother to gaze into an adjacent sealing room. The audience had been small on January 18, 1956 as my grandparents knelt with my mother and three more children in white around the altar. He taught me by example that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ all things can be forgiven.
I called my grandpa a couple of weeks ago. He called me the wrong name. He doesn’t remember the war, his wedding day, or the names of his children.
On this Veterans’ Day, though he forgets, I will remember.
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Tags: atonement, family, family history, grandparents, temple, Veterans Day
Lovely.
Thank you, Marintha. I loved this (and it made me remember, too).
This is beautiful. My grandfather also served in the South Pacific during the war. I wish I had taken the time when I was younger to hear more and learn more about all he did to serve our country.
Thank you for this post! My grandfather also never talked about his time or decorations in relation to the war. It makes me wonder about those that do, sometimes.
Best way to honor a soldier – bring on peace!
Lovely post.
Interestingly, not only did my grandfathers and uncles and dad NOT talk much about their time in the service, but enlistment and interest in serving in the armed forces in our family has completely skipped a generation until now. As I watch my sons with the desire to serve their country, it makes me proud to associate them with my older relatives who so valiantly and rather anonymously served.
Happy Remembrances on Veteran’s Day.
Wow, how touching. Thanks for sharing.
thank you Marintha. thank you.
Thank you.
My grandpa was the same. His daughters kept trying to get the story out of him but he refused. Until one day my husband casually asked him about it (without a tape recorder stuck in his face), he shared small details with my husband that no one else had heard.
My mother later painted a picture for my grandpa, of the ship he served on. I was surprised that my mom didn’t understand that he didn’t want a visual reminder of those years. To her it was a way to honor him and his service.
It is hard to honor those who served so humbly that it is difficult for them to accept the praise they deserve.
That was beautiful, Marintha! It’s so nice to be able to put a story with the holiday today.
Thanks for sharing today.
Thank you for sharing this—and thank you for remembering when so many seem to want to forget.
But just as a note, we should remember, too, that D-Day by no means ended the war in Europe. The fighting there continued until May 8, 1945, and thousands of soldiers fought and sacrificed their lives during those final 11 months.
So beautiful and touching. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Two of my great-uncles went to Wake Island to help build an airbase for the U.S. When the Japanese took the island, both were taken prisoners. One of them lived in POW camps in China and Japan for the duration of the war. He had a remarkably forgiving heart and learned to love the Japanese. The other was kept on the island and then executed with 98 other civilians. Even though neither of them were soldiers, I still honor them on Veterans day.
A couple of years ago, while in Israel, I stumbled upon a war cemetary in Beersheva. The men who were buried there had served in World War I. Most of the soldiers were young and came from Australia and England. It was a very sobering experience. In the years since, I’ve learned more about WWI. One reason we have Veterans Day on November 11th is because WWI ended on November 11, 1918.
Thanks for this lovely post, Marintha; it was perfect for today. It made me reflect on my own grandfathers—I wish I knew more about their lives. This post reminded me of the importance of recording our own lives for our posterity as well as what we know about our ancestors’ lives, so that they won’t forget, either.
Beautiful. Thank you for writing this.
Thanks your for the poignant post. I guess a lot of us are thinking about our grandfathers and fathers today.
What a sweet story. My husband’s family was recently sealed together after the death of both parents. All the children are adults, and what a wonderful feeling it was to have brothers and sisters as one after so many years. Thank you for reminding me of this special day.
My Dad served in Vietnam. He live on a helicopter and he flew from one devastating scene to another. He never speaks of it! I am so proud of him for doing what he had to though!
Tiffany in #13. Your story about your great-uncles struck home. My father-in-law had a chance to go to Wake Island at that time. He chose to go to Hawaii instead only because he had missed out on a chance to go there when a scheduled game between Weber and Hawaii fell through. He was a civilian contractor at Pearl Harbor when it was bombed and joined the Army immed. afterward, serving in the South Pacific. How different our lives would’ve been had he chosen to go to Wake instead!
To Yet another John #19, neither of my great-uncles had children. The uncle who survived the war and the camps was married, but they weren’t able to have children. The other uncle who was executed on Wake Island was in his early 20’s and never married. My sisters and I have all felt a keen duty to honor their memories and keep their stories alive.