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One of the Lucky Ones
One of the Lucky Ones
Or so they said
when I returned to their praises
and thanks for my service,
gratified their prayers were answered
and I was a home town hero
though not to everyone
given the unpopularity of the long war
and the hasty retreat that signaled
it was all for nothing, pointless,
too many lives lost to no purpose
other than political posturing.
But for some, I was a symbol
of something worthy, patriotism
however misplaced, and survival.
Look at him, they marveled,
medals on his chest,
and not a wound anywhere,
not so much as a scratch,
looking just as he did
when he left us
with that same boyish smile.
We feared we might
never see him again,
and here he is, our boy,
back in the swing of things
without a word of complaint
or regret, happy to be home
as we are to have him here,
back in one piece
and resuming his interrupted life
without a backward glance
at what happened over there,
(we are careful not to ask
because what is important
is that he has come back to us
untouched and untroubled).
Or so they said.
At night, I close my eyes
hoping not to see
what I know is waiting for me,
the ambush of remembrance
in a silent movie that begins
with a brilliant, soundless explosion,
a flash of color
that pierces me like shrapnel
and signals the attack
none of us survived
until I open my eyes again
and see to my surprise
nothing has changed, nothing has happened
and I am just as I was,
exceptionally fortunate, so they said,
one of the lucky ones
for whom the past is past.
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A retired reporter and editor, Stockton resident Howard Lachtman has written Delta-centered detective stories, Stockton Civic Theatre reviews and a variety of baseball tales for Soundings. In 2006. he was honored by the Stockton Arts Commission for “24 years of superior review and commentary on the performing and literary arts in Stockton.” He recently gifted his vintage baseball glove to a grandson who tried to play with it and asked “How did you ever catch a fly ball with a glove this small?” To which Howard responded, “I made frequent excuses.”
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4 Comments
This is not only touching but so true.
A friend of mine, now gone, spent his whole life,
after returning from WWII as a B17 pilot,
reliving every moment of every mission.
After receiving one of his medals for doing all those
missions,someone asked him how it felt when he dropped
all those bombs.
His answer was, ‘You just don’t know what’s down there.”
The result, as his wife described it, “climbing the walls”.
This is such a deep piece. It really explains the truth of mental illness. It is always hard to know what is going on in someone’s head and one may look fine despite going through such traumatic trauma. I am really happy you ended up writing this!
So touching, sad and true for so many who have lived through the horrors of war.🙌🏻🙏🏻😢
Excellent! Thanks for writing it!
Gene Beley, Stockton