My grandfather. William Miller Fletcher. He was called Sarge. I have such wonderful memories of him. He passed away when I was a child. He would buy me entire cases of those orange push-up popsicles. He always made sure they had Kellogg's Frosted Flakes in the house when I visited because that was my favorite breakfast. He used to have to rest a lot. I recall getting the pillows propping up his feet just right as he lay on the bed and then kissing his stubbly cheek.
My cousin shared this photo of him with me when I joined Facebook. He pointed out to me that the nice, heavy coat he is wearing is not army issue but rather of German design and that he most likely liberated it from a German soldier.
He came back from the war changed forever. I miss him. I wish I had had more time with him.
He is just one of the thousands of men that should be honored today, the anniversary of D-Day. The men, the young men, who answered the call of duty when the world needed them. The men who were so brave in the face of danger. The men who gave up their life so that so many others could live free from a ghastly tyranny. The men who endured the bone-shilling cold and the sweltering heat. The men who were somebody's son, somebody's husband, somebody's father.
Sarge, I miss you and I love you.
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