Some Days are Better

The World War II veteran was sitting in his wheel chair in the VA hospital staring out the window. His wife called to tell me that he wanted to see me. He had a fall coming out of his house early in September. She called 911, the police arrived and took him up the hill to our VA. They told him that he would never go home again and that he had seven months to live.

"I didn't expect to end up like this after all of my years. I have seen better days, but then I have seen worse," he said as he looked at me sideways.

We both knew that "worse" he was referring to was his time as a medic on Guadalcanal during the war. He had told me some of his story one sunny afternoon last summer as I sat in his living room. He omitted parts that were too difficult for him to recall. His wife filled in the missing pieces, and I understood why he was loath to revisit those horrific times.

"I have known both the drama and the comedy. I prefer to talk about the comedy."

The nurses and aids who look after this tough old veteran seem to appreciate his sense of humor. He does not dwell on the negatives from his 89 years of living. He focuses on the positives, of which there are many. But always, among the lightness, lurks the pain.

"I have to live to make 90."

I have no doubt that he will make it to 90. He is determined to live out this next "blip" of his life, in the warmth of a hospital that cares about the veterans who served. His life, the part he shares reluctantly and infrequently, will live on in his story that will go to Washington and also in my book, a testimonial to all veterans from all branches and all conflicts.