Dying

 

His unit was ambushed at dawn. Small arms fire whizzed by like a hard rain. There were yells to take cover. His luck ran out when he was hit. Three  slugs right in the chest. His helmet flew off and rolled down a hill.
He hit the ground grabbing his chest. All he could see was blood on his hands.

He was fading in and out. The medics that were soon over him were blurred and fuzzy. He heard the chopper landing.

They loaded him. Lots of dirt and dust kicked up. IV bottles swung above him.

With a strange sensation of both peace and panic, he thought about his small town, the going away party for him at the church. The ’41 Chevy that he and dad were going to get to just as soon as he got back. He could see his mom wiping her tears with dad’s hankie as the train left the station. He thought about his younger brother and kid sister. And how the girl he was to afraid to ask to the movies came to the church party and told him to call when he got home.

On a rainy but warm Tuesday morning, the train arrived back in town.

The flag draped casket was carried down the same concrete steps that he took up, two at a time,  just a few months earlier.

The elderly Vets snapped their salute as the coffin was put in the hearse.  People lined the streets.

Today,  the cemetery is quiet and peaceful. Mom and Dad are now both gone too. There have been many seasons since that day when everyone stood in the rain.

Every Memorial Day, that girl, now a grandmother, puts a single rose on his final resting place.

He is not forgotten.

 

This guest post was written by Alexander Edwards.  He is a free lance writer who is working on his first book about men who started with nothing  and changed the world.

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Lipofsky Pippen.jpg     My friend, barely five feet tall, was struggling to load two large groceries bags into her apartment elevator.

Before she pushed her floor button, a tall, nicely dressed African American man joined her in the elevator.

The elevator reached her floor with a bump and one of the bags fell over.

The groceries were scattered all over the elevator floor.

The man put the elevator on hold and carefully and neatly repacked the groceries in the empty bag.

I’ll be glad to carry your groceries to your door.

She hesitated.

“I have never seen you before.  Do you live in the building?”

No.  Just visiting a friend here.

“I could really use some help”

The man picked up the heavy bags as though they were filled with feathers.

As they walked down the corridor, she looked up at him.

“You are really tall.”

Yes, I am.

“You should play basketball.”

Actually, I did. My name is Scottie Pippin.  I played with the Chicago Bulls for a number of years.

“I don’t follow sports but I remember something about that.”

They were now at her apartment door.

“I was going to offer you a tip but you probably don’t need it.”

He laughed.  No, I don’t.

Thank you so much for helping me.  I really appreciate it.”

He smiled that also famous sweet smile.

No problem.  Glad to help.

He waved as he got back into the elevator.

This is a nice story because Scottie Pippin is a well known person.

Have you done one small act of kindness today?

It’s not too late.

 

About Corinne

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