I’ve been wondering if I should write about Veterans Day this year, or observe in silence.
I always have another story to tell. Or tell again, with a few more layers. Trust grows.
My father, Harold A. Borgh, Ph.D, served in World War II. I can only imagine my mom and dad, in love in their twenties, not knowing if they would be able to build a life together. When I was caring for my mother, I sometimes found, as time progressed, that her older memories were more vivid. If I could find a movie from the 1940s, for example, she would connect with it. Yet, she never stopped trying. So sad that she grew up with war and died with war. She watched the news day and night.
They did so much and were modest. My father was a kind man. I think of times when he could have scolded me, but loved me unconditionally instead. He was only 68 when he died in 1983. By God’s grace, I went to Poland with him for over a month in the summer of 1978. There was a tour with UW-Milwaukee; he wanted to go; my mom had a teaching commitment. I was teaching elementary school, but not in the summer. So I went with him. This was Karl’s and my first summer in our little house in Illinois, and Karl was kind to understand I needed to do this. Dad, as veteran and historian, was continuing to learn and bear witness. He and Mom went to other places in Europe as well. I went to Canada with my mother in 1972, to see Shakespeare plays with her.
Today I am listening to Amy Shreve PRAY Instrumentals. I can never hear “Be Still My Soul,” “Wayfarin’ Stranger,” or “I Need Thee Every Hour” too many times.
Others in my family served in Vietnam. I’ll close this post with a picture of The Vietnam War Memorial that I found on wpclipart.com; followed by a picture of The Paul Brandt School Forest, by Ruth Bauer. Paul served in Vietnam. We honor and love, we pray for peace and healing.