A Piece Of History

While watching the news last night, a story aired commemorating the 66th anniversary of the Invasion of Normandy-more commonly referred to as D-Day. I listened as 87 year old Lewis Johnson shared his first hand experience of this historic event. His eyes filled with tears. He choked up and couldn't speak for a moment. He said for the first 54 years of his marriage to his wife, she had no clue what he'd lived through those seconds, minutes, and hours. It wasn't until Larry Cappetto, in his attempt to preserve history, interviewed him and began asking questions.

My mind went back to a memory of my own, from 22 years ago. I was in Arizona, staying with my inlaws. My mother-in-law was with her oldest daughter, who'd recently birthed first child, in another state. Michael was back at work in Colorado. I was exhausted. I put my 3 young children to bed, then sat down in the family room with my father-in-law, Ed. He often watched old westerns on television, but this night it appeared to me more of a war or military kind of film. It wasn't very interesting to this 26 year old at the time, but I pretended to watch, while my mind went elsewhere.

"It wasn't quite like that," Ed seemed to say out of nowhere. Embarrassed at not knowing what he was talking about, I answered, "What was it like?" At that moment, he began to share his story with me. He told of having to always be prepared as he never knew when he'd be called out on a mission. One night he'd gone to bed, well aware of unrest. He and the other men (most were 18-20 year olds) were awakened before dawn. They had 15 minutes to be dressed and out to the hangars, prepared to fly to an unknown destination. They didn't actually receive their orders until they were climbing into their aircrafts.


As Ed spoke, my mind was racing. I felt foolish for not having paid more attention in high school history class. I felt guilty for being the recipient of such privileged information. Michael had said many times, that his father never spoke about his war time activities, much like Lewis Johnson who'd kept it to himself also. I wished I had a recording device to capture all he was saying. I wanted to retain every word he said, but knew in my tired state I'd never remember the details. I wanted to ask more questions, but the moment seemed too sacred. He spoke in stops and starts, as if too painful to remember. I could see in his eyes, he was reliving every bit of it. He'd blink as if trying to erase a particularly awful image. Every ounce of my being tried to absorb all that went on in that passage of time, wishing I hadn't been the sole heir of this piece of history.


During the last couple years of Ed's life, we had the privilege of having him over for dinner at least twice a week. Even though his short term memory began to diminish, the clarity of his longtime memory increased-as if the forgotten past was full to capacity and needed to be released. We never knew when it would happen, but every once in awhile another piece of history would come spilling out. Most often it was an event related to the Korean war, especially since we often talked about Christopher and Lauren living in Korea. At the end of these intriguing tales, my mother-in-law would often exclaim, "I've never heard that story."


Today would have been Ed's 87th birthday. Last December, a precious piece of history passed away with him. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to preserve more of his story.



This was Ed's 86th birthday. He was busy explaining something here, after blowing out his candles.

I have a message on my answering machine, of his voice. I can't bring myself to erase it.