We could hardly have a richer life. In just the past year some of the highlights have included a 6700 mile, 4 1/2 month road trip where we camped on our beautiful public lands and hiked 540 miles in grasslands and deserts. We have cycled about 2000 miles all over the state of Washington, including our annual STP with Jules. We went on a cruise to Alaska---the best part being what was almost our personal dance band to which we danced for hours every night. We attended my 50th high school reunion. We spent a lot of time with our children and families.
Since we have returned from this latest road trip we have made improvements to the house, have planted dozens of flowers, and are feeding and enjoying the birds that live in Washington State this time of year--birds that sing so loud to us early every morning that we have to close our windows in order to sleep. It is beautiful here.
Of special importance, in just the past two months we have gone to Disneyworld with two grandchildren, gone to one grandson's play (Little Shop of Horrors---it was great!), gone to another grandson's baseball game and watched him pitch, catch, and hit, taught one granddaughter chopsticks so she can play it at the talent show this week, sang Happy Birthday to one grandson yesterday, barbecued with two little boys who call us aunt and uncle, and watched Vicky teach another granddaughter how to sew a dress from scratch (she's actually hard at work next to me as I write this). All these little lives we get to be a part of.
In short, life is good. Awfully good. Blessed, in fact.
These are the kinds of life experiences Guy Alley never got to have. He also never got to be there when his children were born, or see them off on their first days of school. He never got hired for his career job. He never got to grow old and worry about his health. Or maybe even fall in love.
He died before he could have any of these experiences. In 1944. On an island in the Pacific. Shot by a Japanese sniper.
Guy was officially a "first cousin once removed." In other words, he was my father's cousin. That's close enough for me to think of him as a cousin. He was family.
I did not even know about him until recently when I was going through some papers that my parents had saved. There was a folder about him, information that was saved for a purpose I'll never know since my parents are deceased.
Here he is as a young boy. He is the one on the right.
As an adolescent. Again, he is the one on the right. All of the names were on a piece of paper attached to the photo. On the back of the photo someone thoughtfully made a note that the dog's name was Rusty.
In uniform with his mother, sister, and a brother. Little did they know the heartache to come:
His obituary. You can see that the above photo was probably the only one they had of him in uniform, so it was cropped and put into the newspaper.
Like most Iowa farm boys, he probably volunteered for the Army, like my father did the day after Pearl Harbor. He would have been 19 years old.
Guy missed out on so much.
Also in the papers I found was a note to my father from someone in the family who indicated that another soldier in Guy's squad saw what happened to him. Guy was killed by a "Jap Sniper." Another man in his squad had been hit and Guy went to rescue him. The sniper was later killed.
He went to rescue him. Instead of being there when his children were born, or reading to grandchildren, or snuggling up with his wife on a cold winter's night, Guy's last act on earth was trying to rescue a fellow soldier.
Memorial Day is not Grill Hamburgers Day. Instead it is a day for remembering who it was that made it possible for me to be here today listening to Vicky teach our granddaughter how to sew.
Statler Brothers: Silver Medals and Sweet Memories
Today also marks the death, 48 years ago, of the most decorated soldier in WWII--Audie Murphy.
Audie Murphy was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, killing 240 German soldiers and saving many of his country-men's lives. He was about the shortest hero imaginable--standing only 5 feet 5 inches. He went on to a successful career in films. However, he was a damaged man, living much of his life by himself, with a loaded gun under his pillow. He died in a plane crash, too young for what he gave us, at age 45.
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