One of our World War II heroes died this week. I knew he was a highly decorated veteran but to be honest I didn’t understand the entire story.

Now I’ve learned more. He was there. The Big Red One. Landed on Omaha Beach in the first wave of the D-Day invasion of Normandy. Wounded in the Battle of the Bulge. Saw the liberation of a Nazi concentration camp.

After the war, our hero lived a life of commitment and dedication to his family, his communities, the American Legion and the Disabled Veterans of American. United Way, Elks, Rotary. The greatest of the greatest generation.

Near the end of his days, I am told, he was haunted with the memories of battles that just would not go away.

As I am haunted by this poem written by my Dad, Herman Allen. I can’t shake it.  Herman was never in the infantry but obviously early on he was obsessed with the nightmares of war. He wrote this in the early years of the war, before he became part of his B-17 crew.

The Return

I was lying there
When you passed
Me by the first time.

The mud was in my hair
And a bullet in my thigh.
The ditch was cold,
Water oozed through my clothes;
I did not cry
Only grimaced with pain,
For the night was short
And I knew you would return.

I was alone amongst those
Whom you had touched.
How better they fared than I!
At least they could not think
Or dream, or curse.
The fanfare of battle
Did not mock their ears,
The flash of guns blind their eyes.
They didn’t know
The pangs of thirst, of hunger,
The want of sleep.
Theirs was rest and solitude.
Alone they lie, yet together;
Alone they sleep,
Yet in quiet company.

But now you are back,
I can see your shadow on my blouse,
I can feel your touch on my fevered brow,
Your breath on my upturned face.
You are back, ah Death,
You have returned.

Herman Allen, early 1940's

Dedicated to this hero who will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery in 2011.  We can never honor our veterans enough.

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