Today I was reminded by jimstaro's powerful diary on supporting the troops that my father's ashes are still sitting in a box on my mother's bureau almost two years after his death. First, I would recommend that you give Jim's diary a looksee. Yesterday, Jim's recommended list diary honored our war dead. Today, he confronts the issues related to not supporting our troops
My father was a WWII Navy veteran. After months of arguing with his father to sign the enlistment papers, he quit high school to join the Navy. He was a seventeen year old 6 foot 1 inch, 130 pound kid. I have his picture in uniform on my wall and it brings tears to my eyes every day.
My Dad served on the U.S.S. Radford, DDE 446 -- a Fletcher-class destroyer, later escort ship. The Radford saw intense action in the Battle of Kolombangara and Battle of Kula Gulf. She received the Presidential Unit Citation for the heroic rescue of 468 sailors from the torpedoed U.S.S. Helena, CL-50. Despite heavy attacks from kamakaze pilots the ship returned twice to pull oil drenched men from the dangerous waters.
Like most of us who have fathers who served in WWII, I didn't learn about his experiences until I was well into adulthood. He never spoke about them. Not until he decided to go to his ship reunions in the 1990s did he open up.
My Dad died two years ago this May. He had already gathered all of the necessary paper-work needed for interment in Riverside National Cemetery in California. My mother will be interred with him, in 150 years since she isn't planning on dying soon. Following a rousing Irish funeral with bagpipes, eulogies and a beautiful rendition of The Homes of Donegal sung by my cousin, my Dad's remains were cremated. What followed has been a long term nightmare.
My mother sent the paperwork via fax to the cemetery. She received confirmation. I flew out to go with her to deliver the ashes. We were met with indifferent, rude, donut eating employees. She was told they didn't have the paperwork and she'd just have to do it again. That meant getting another original of the death certificate. This nonsense didn't happen once, it happened three times. So now, almost two years after my father's death, his ashes remain on my mother's bureau.
Correction -- half of his ashes. My non-squeemish brother took half of my Dad's ashes to Ireland. He was taken out into Dingel Bay by a retired English Navy captain. With dolphins following the boat, the captain offered a prayer, and my Dad was sprinkled onto the bay. Would that it were so easy to bury him here.
Sorry for the ramble, but I love my Dad, and know that he is welcoming our soldiers into the brotherhood and sisterhood of the universe.