Yesterday I met a man at the hospital who is an old war veteran. He lives all alone, in a nursing home for veterans, and he doesn't have very many in the way of friends; for it seems that a lot of his friends are too old or too sick to be able to visit him. Or others have long since died. His name is Early Pike, and he fought in Iwo Jima. He is now quite old and quite disabled; he was injured in the battle, and ever since, he has suffered from many problems. (He CAN walk, but with crutches, and only for short distances.) He had fallen while bathing, and he cut his head wide open and gave himself a nasty concussion; he was to be admitted for a few days for observation.(He is in his middle 80's.)
I met Mr. Pike yesterday while I was at the hospital, waiting for my mom to get off work; I had also come to the hospital to get some stitches removed. (A week earlier I had tripped over a rusty metal pole lying in the yard, and when I fell I hit my face on a rusty water spigot. I ended up cutting my cheek wide open.) Plus my sister, Ronee', was having her weekly physical therapy session, and I often waited for her while she had that done.
I was sitting there, in the room, when this old, grey-haired man slowly entered the room. He looked tired, and he looked like he was in pain. I saw that he was on crutches, so I immediately offered him my seat. "Here, sir," I said, "Take a load off your feet."
"Thank you very much, Missy," the man responded in a gruff voice. "How nice of you to do that, Missy."
"You are welcome, sir, but my name isn't 'Missy'--it's Barbara," I said. "Nice day, isn't it, Sir?"
"I guess; I haven't been out in a while, and it sure gets lonely here," the man said. Smiling softly, he added, "You know, kid, but you are about the first one in a while that has actually paid me a visit.I've been here two days--I fell and hit my dadblamed head while taking a bath--, and I have only had Charlie Wright and ol' Herb Xanderman visit; nobody else has stopped by. Most of the rest of the time I spend sittin' around, just twiddlin' my dadburned fingers out of boredom!"
"Oh? What about your wife? Or your kids?" I asked.
"Sorry, kid, but my wife's been dead since '95, and my kids live too far away, in California. 'They're too busy!' they're always telling me." Sighing, the man turned his head and looked out the window.
"Oh, that's too bad," I said. "Do you mind if I sit here with you? You look like you could use some company."
"I guess--that is, if you don't mind visitin' an ol' war horse like me. Early Pike's the name--World War Two, Iwo Jima". He actually looked proud as he mentioned his name, but then the man's eyes filled with tears, and the pride left his body. He looked sad and defeated.
"No, I don't mind, Sir," I told him. "In fact, I learned about World War II last year in school, and I found it very interesting, and I also found it quite heartbreaking, especially to those who experienced it. It must have been horrible."
"It was, girlie, it was. I saw a lot of my buddies murdered by the Japanese--I have another name for them, but since you're a kid I won't say what I REALLY think of them--, and I didn't have much time to say goodbye to them, much less, bury them, my buddies," the man said. "Now, see this"--he pointed to his legs--"I was shot by the Japanese after they caught me trying to get away after they had caught me; now my legs ain't no good any more, and I have to use these crutches. They are nothin' but a big pain in the ass."
I didn't say nothing, but I understood. I had brothers and sisters who depended on crutches, and at times they hated using them, too. The man continued to talk.
"Honey, you better thank your lucky stars you were born not so long ago. The world was such a scary, uncertain place, especially during the War. Loved ones didn't know if they'd ever see their sons or daughters alive again, and it was nerve-wracking with the Germans and Japanese breathin' down our necks--Hitler, he was the WORST!--; and we didn't know whether we'd get hit by THE Bomb, like the one that hit Nagasaki and Hiroshima. It was such an awful time in our history, and I, for one, shall never forget it as long as I live. I saw a lot of my buddies die, and ever since, I've had nothin' good to say about the Japanese."
I didn't say nothing; I just let Mr. Early Pike continue telling his story. After the war had ended, he came home, back to Tennessee, where he fell in love and then married; and then had a family. He tried his best to get gainful employment, but he couldn't; people didn't want to hire an injured war veteran. His wife tried her best to support the family by running a restaurant and having boarders stay at their house, in addition to raising five rambunctious kids. They often went without the necessities they needed in life, but they very rarely complained. Then Mr. Pike started having more problems with his old war injury, and he was forced to go onto disability. That helped a little, but not much was left for luxuries. Eventually, his wife got sick with Alzheimer's disease, and he was forced to put her into a nursing home, where she then died three years later. He ended up in a nursing home for veterans shortly after his wife had died.
As a result, Mr. Pike was often angry and very bitter. He didn't want to see anyone, and if he did, he often complained and said mean things to them; and he also complained that his children didn't see him.
I couldn't blame him for his anger; he had had a lot of hurtful things happen to him in his life. Now, to add insult to injury, he was in the hospital because he had fallen in the bathtub and gave himself a nasty concussion. A sloppily-wrapped bandage covered his head, the lower half of it hanging haphazardly in his face.
As I watched Mr. Pike play with the bandage, I couldn't help thinking about tomorrow, the Fourth of July. We were a free nation because of people like him, people who fought in wars to defend our freedom. The Fourth of July wasn't just about hotdogs or picnics or parades or fireworks--it was more than that: much more. We were celebrating the fact that we were a FREE nation, and that we were free because people fought in wars and defended our freedom, freedom that made our nation what it is today.
I got a lump in my throat as I pondered about this. I especially felt bad because Mr. Pike had nobody to see him, and most people didn't even know about wars or war veterans, many, of whom, languished in hospitals or nursing homes, forgotten and thrown aside like yesterday's trash. Here I was, waiting for my little sister, and here was Mr. Pike, friendless and hopelessly alone.
It didn't seem fair. (It especially didn't seem fair because a lot of veterans today are often left to be forgotten, even though they all gave their lives to protect and serve our great nation. A lot of veterans also don't get the needed health care they so desperately need; they are often undercared for and are forced to live on a meager pension that barely covers their most basic needs. It seems animals get better care than our veterans do. It is a national tragedy that doesn't DESERVE to happen, especially to those who fought so hard to preserve and defend our freedom we enjoy today!!)
That's when I decided to make Mr. Pike a card and write him a letter. Which was just what I did. I wanted to show him that I was a kid who cared about him, and I wanted him to have a friend. I also wanted to let him know that I didn't want to forget the price he paid for my freedom so long ago, and that because of him I was not only an American--but an American who was FREE.
Dedicated to our Veterans from One Who Knows The Price They Paid for OUR FREEDOM we enjoy today!! *GOD BLESS OUR VETERANS!!* YOU ARE ALL HEROES IN THE TRUEST SENSE OF THE WORD!!
I am the daughter of a veteran, and my twin sister and older brother are both veterans; a lot of my uncles were veterans, too. So there is a lot of military heritage in my family, and I thank GOD for EACH and every one of them!! I love MY VETERAN FAMILY MEMBERS, those still here, and those who have passed on (God rest their souls!!). Uncle Duke and Uncle Toots--I LOVE AND MISS YOU BOTH; I ALWAYS WILL!!
Karen, this was excellent! Daddy is a WWII war veteran. He's bedridden now, because of a piece of schrapnel that hit him while fighting for our country.
Thank you so much for 'The Old War Veteran'. It means more to me than you'll ever know...
(((hugs)))
Love,
Debbie :(
Beautiful write! :) Let us remember those that fought for our freedoms and are no longer here, thank those that came back and remember, and pray for those that continue the fight for our freedoms today...GOD BLESS OUR VETERANS. ~~They~~ are the reason we celebrate FREEDOM! (((HUGS))) Love, Karla. :) (Thank *you*, Karen!) :)
Mushroom Cloud, a fact-based historical novel, is the first book of The First Strike Trilogy: USA and the Soviet Union are building nuclear arms for a face off in a potential nuclear war in the late 1950's and early 1960's.
