Iwo Jima

Below is a wonderful photograph of my Uncle Bob standing larger than life before the Iwo Jima memorial, in Iwo Jima, in the 1950’s.  On the back of the photograph is handwritten “John Wayne Dahlgren”, no doubt a humorous jab at a man that entered the military underaged and later served in four of the five branches of the armed forces.

American WarriorIwo Jima Memorial

Uncle Bob was missing a few toes, a finger, and half a thumb when he died.  But he sacrificed everything in the service of his country.

Here are a few more pictures taken at the request of Aunt B.

Uncle Bob’s day at Arlington

And a story written about Aunt B and her love of Uncle Bob…

Happy Birthday Aunt B

Two Years after Long-Care Help

I was gonna write something angry today, seeing as to how I’m still pissed at the Shenandoah Valley Teen Challenge people, whom I helped and worked with, before I got got sick two years ago, after which they stopped talking to me.  Seems that I violated God’s rules of payment.  So, instead, I thought I’d write something strangely nice. Continue reading Two Years after Long-Care Help

Handwritten Love Letters

Buried on a shelf, behind the door of an unused closet, lies an old beat-up jewelry box.

The box itself was very unassuming. A faded pale blue with a simple gold embroidery, the cushy feel of padding like those mass-produced in the 60’s and 70’s.  But with a lift of the unlatched lid, a thousand thoughts and emotions poured out of the jewelry box, causing his head to spin and his heart to flutter.

The jewelry box was crammed full of letters written by his first love, handwritten memories on crinkled paper, some still nestled in their original envelopes.  What started as ‘Puppy Love’ had developed over time, as did the length and complexity of the letters themselves.

If the pile of letters, now shuffled like a huge deck of cards, were laid out from the very first kiss until the present day, they would tell the wonderful tale of a young love blossoming into maturity, the pains of separating after adulthood, and a final chapter that would never end, instead a friendship that would last forever.

There’s something warm and comforting, so personal, in holding a piece of paper on which is written the thoughts and feelings of someone who means so much to you, and whose style of script you’ll never forget.  It’s like having that person sitting beside you, though they’re not apart of your life or maybe never will be again, but they’ll never be gone forever.

Behind the creation of each letter, she had searched for an ink pen and a piece of paper, and had spilled-out her emotions with wet ink on a plain piece of paper.

Holding each handwritten letter with his own hands, reading each and every word she had written, he could clearly hear her voice.

And the jewelry box was placed back upon on the shelf.

P.A.R.

Most are 99.9% almost true… in a way.

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