a work in progress.

the fallen soldier.

Introduction

"I remember when we didn't wear helmets in football." This was one of the first stories my grandfather told me which, lucky for me, was the first among many others to come.

As far back as I can remember he had been a strong and giant-like man. His hands were enormous even on his deathbed. I remember only two days ago I sat across from him, in his room, and had what I’d pretty much expected to be my last conversation with my elder father. We spoke only briefly, but I can vividly remember he preferred my directions to my mother’s, a woman who is queen of unnecessary back roads. Anyway, I mentioned the size of my grandfather’s hands. I found it interesting that this somehow made me comfortable, and deep down I realized that I knew why. It’s simple really, I was in denial. I thought that somehow the normality of his hands, attached to his withered and decrepit body, could leave me a little sense of familiarity, a tiny dose of hope. But believe me, that isn’t how I will remember my grandfather. The real story is far more interesting…