By Dicy McCullough

As we live our lives we never know the twists and turns we may see through the years. Some of those twists and turns will be ones we embrace, while others will be ones we think we cannot bear. Five years ago, the later happened to me with the death of my dad. Many people endure losing a parent, but it’s even harder when unexpected.
My dad was a WWII veteran, and even at 85 years of age, he never got over the sights, sounds and injuries he endured in his many missions as a soldier. He brought those memories home with him to relive over and over again. As a child, I could sense the torture he lived with, and yet, to me he was just dad. He never was one to show love in the sense of hugs or outpouring of emotion, but he provided for my needs, taught me to love church and country, and instilled in me the desire to get an education.
He grew up during the Depression, and as a teenager, one of the main reasons he entered the Army was to have a place to live and something to eat. Suffering from hunger as a child caused him to have the resolution to work, budget his money and never waste anything. He believed in doing things for himself, and often would fix things around the house in unusual ways to save money. He recycled before it became popular and duct tape became a staple around our house.
My dad kept up with current events and understood all too well the trauma of the soldiers fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq. I often heard him say he hated what was happening to the soldiers coming home from the war. I can still hear his words, “Those boys coming home from overseas are not being treated right.” He believed they were suffering in ways many civilians couldn’t understand, and he, for one, was tired of people saying, “Oh, get over it and move on.” It had been more than 60 years since he had served on the front lines in Germany, and he still hadn’t gotten over it.
Dad was a private man and went about living his life quietly. He was a smart man and could have been anything he wanted. Yet, he became very nervous in social situations and this kept him from reaching his potential. Studying his Bible was a source of comfort for him, and I believe this helped him make it to the age of 85. Without his Bible, and my mom, he probably would have been gone long before then.
Being a soldier was always a thread that weaved throughout the very fiber of his body, and for that reason, I think of him especially on Memorial Day and Veterans Day. My mom has a picture in her living room of him when he was a tall young soldier in his crisp uniform looking so very proud. I didn’t know him then, and can only imagine what my life would have been like if he had not endured the scars of war. Yet, because he did and because so many others are willing to do so, generations of children continue to grow up free.
At the passing of my dad, I began writing poetry to help deal with the grief. The very first poem I wrote was “Soldier’s Cry.” I imagined what it was like for my dad, or any soldier, to go off to war scared, knowing there was a job to be done, and yet taking great comfort in having a loved one at home thinking of them. Words can never express our gratitude for all the sacrifices made by these brave men and women, but still we must say thank you. You are and will always be our heroes.Soldier’s Cry
Sing me a song
of times forgotten, of memories
lost and moments shared.
Sing me a song to comfort my soul,
to give me a smile
and bid me farewell.
Sing me a song.
Tomorrow I leave for places unknown,
with distant shores and nights endless.
Think of me when nights are lonely.
Hold our love close to your heart.
It’s hard to explain the torment and fear,
but easier knowing you are there.
Sing me a song,
all through the night
of peace and rest and a journey safe.
Sing me a song to comfort my soul,
to give me a smile
and bid me farewell.
Sing me a song.
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Dicy McCullough of Salisbury is the author of the children’s book, “Tired of My Bath.”