Death and Life

   Crissy held tightly to Roger's hand. He remained stoic as the casket was lowered into the ground. It had been a rough year for Roger. First his father passed, and his estate was tied up in legal matters. At least that was finally wrapping up. Then his sister and childhood friend went murderously insane and tried to kill his fiance. Now he was saying goodbye to his mother. She took her husband's passing hard, but at least she had some joy toward the end as her son married a wonderful girl. Roger's parents seemed to escape the creeping savagery that was consuming his fellow wolves. He quietly wondered if the fact that they lived in another State had something to do with it. Maybe there was some local factor that was driving the wolves to pack. What it could be was a total mystery. Mr. and Mrs. Ralphwit had been spared the horror that was becoming all too evident. There was that at least.

   Not long after, Roger and Crissy were sitting quietly in his mother's house. They had to start going through her belongings, what she hadn't willed to her numerous friends. A few boxes were left, a few items she had meant for Roger and wanted him to go through them while inside the house. The house was given to a friend, so Roger and Crissy knew they couldn't linger too long despite being given permission to take as much time as they needed. For now, the place was silent. Only the ticking of a huge grandfather clock could be heard as Crissy sat next to Roger on the couch in the living room. She'd held onto his hand the whole time. By now her digits were numb, but she dared not remove her fingers from his tight embrace. He didn't let it show, but Crissy could tell he was hurting. She didn't know what to do to help him. Just being there with him, she hoped, would ease the pain a little.

   "I guess we can't put this off forever," Roger took a breath, "let's see what's in these boxes." Crissy nodded as Roger leaned forward and picked up the first box. Family photo albums made up the bulk of the contents. Roger began flipping through the albums as Crissy looked on intently. Prominently on the cover of one such book was the wedding photo of Roger's parents that had been taken in the little chapel back in Creek Bend, the same church where Roger and Crissy were married decades later. Crissy touched the photo as Roger studied it. His father was a dapper and dashing man, and his mother a charming southern belle. They were a beautiful couple. 

   "They met at a dance," Roger mused, "she was sixteen, he was twenty. He'd just come back from the Great War. Ten days later they were man and wife. They fell in love instantly. Family trait I guess." Crissy hugged up to his shoulder and smiled.

   "They were a snappy pair. I'm sorry I never got to meet them."

   "I told Mom everything I could over the telephone." Roger looked at Crissy and smiled. "She didn't have to meet you. She approved of you just from the way I talked about you." Crissy closed her eyes and pushed her face into his shoulder. "I love you, Roger."

    The photos in the box showed numerous relatives Roger had long forgotten, snapshots of various vacation destinations, and a plethora of pictures of Roger and Roxy depicting them from infancy to adulthood. Roger's dad was a camera bug, and he documented everything. Roger had to reflect on how sweet Roxy was as a child. There was no way of connecting the sister he knew before Korea to the increasingly proud and savage woman he lived with when he returned to Creek Bend. 

   Mala seemed to pop up quite a bit as well. She was Roger's best friend as a child, and they became more than friends as they grew. Roger had protected Mala from other guys. Eventually, she saw Roger as more than a big brother. This was driven home as Roger fished out a picture which showed the couple in their teens, dressed to attend a high school dance together.

   "I didn't know you and Mala were so close," Crissy noticed, "I wonder if that's why she was so eager to help Roxy, eh, take care of me."

   "Once upon a time," Roger began, "Mala was a sweetheart. The kindest, nicest girl you'd ever want to meet. We dated a while. This photo was taken not long before I joined the Army. I wasn't old enough when the Japs hit us at Pearl, although I lied about my age and tried to enlist right away. The board would have none of it, though, and I had to wait a couple years. I considered Mala my girl at the time. She was even a nurse's aide and did what she could for the USO. She even pulled duty at the Hollywood Canteen. I don't know how that girl changed so much. I guess it's a good thing that I never really fell in love with her. When I got back home, for some reason we never got serious. I think she wanted to get serious, but I decided to stay in the Army. Maybe she felt like I'd given her the brush-off."

   "It's sad. She's so pretty. But if she got stuck on you, I can understand why."

   "She is a pretty girl," Roger admitted, "but I think I know why I never really got serious about her. I think I just have thing for blondes. Well, one blonde." Crissy smiled and turned up her head to nuzzle her nose against Roger's neck. He chuckled.

   At the bottom of the box was a large envelope marked PRIVATE and a notation that Mom had scribbled some years later. Crissy read the note aloud. "Roger, I didn't have the heart to destroy these photos, but I'm asking you to do that for me. Your dad loved taking pictures, as you know, and these were always meant to be seen only by the two of us as man and wife. I'm sure I don't have to elaborate, just see that nobody ever sees them." It was a heavy package, obviously assembled over several years. The envelope was well worn from being opened many times. 

   "Another family trait, I guess." Roger placed the envelope back into the box. Crissy smiled.

   "I think it's sweet. I hadn't given much thought to our kids having to dispose of our private pictures some day, but I can understand why she didn't want to destroy them herself."

   "Dad was a much better photographer than I am, too. Oh well, I guess they always knew this package was destined for a fire. I'll bet this is why Mom wanted us to open these things here. We'll burn it in the fireplace before we leave." 

   The next box seemed to contain a lot of Roger's stuff from the War. His dress uniform was here, as well as his medals. Crissy scooped up three purple hearts. The sight took her breath away.

   "All yours?"

   "I got another one in Korea. None of them were for anything too serious. Grace has always followed me."

   "I know what most of these mean," Crissy gathered up another medal, "this one is for bravery. What did you do?"

   "Nothing a lot of other guys didn't do. I just got out alive is all. We were taking fire and I kept running out to drag the wounded back into the trench so the medic could look after them. Believe me, I didn't do anything the guy next to me didn't do. That particular skirmish was a cake walk after Normandy."

   "Wow..." Crissy whispered. She was still a kid when Roger hit the beach. It dawned on her that the childhood she enjoyed was being defended by her husband years before they ever met. It was overwhelming. So was what he said next.

   "There's something the guys always say when someone calls us heroes for what we did. It's almost a motto. 'The heroes are the ones who didn't come back.' We don't make a big deal out of what we did, what we had to do, because we know the ones who should be recognized are the ones who didn't make it home. Sons families will never see again, buried and forgotten in some mudpack in Europe or some jungle in the Pacific or the bottom of the ocean. Bodies so mangled that there was no way to tell that they were once men. Those are heroes. Men who truly gave all to keep the War from coming to the homefront. Men who left wives and children to protect the wives and children of men they didn't know, or would ever know. Men who thought it was okay to die if it meant another man would live free. They're the ones we owe. They're the ones those of us who made it back will never forget. They did what we were only willing to do, and we are better men for having known them."

   Crissy was fighting back tears by now, and finally lost control. She bawled as she buried her face in Roger's chest. She clung to him tightly as she sobbed. Roger stroked the top of her head. He leaned forward and kissed her hair. Something else in the box caught Roger's eye and he reached for a photograph he hadn't seen in many years. It had been taken in the field. Roger was there, surrounded by a group of men he had fought alongside. Of the six buddies featured, only two were still alive. Roger was one of those two. Crissy was calmer now, but still overcome with emotion. She kept her face buried in Roger's lap as she sobbed. Roger looked at her, then back to the photo. He spoke softly, so softly that Crissy didn't hear anything more than a sigh. But that was okay. His comment was aimed at the picture, the men reproduced therein. Softly as he said it, though, Roger spoke what he did with the greatest of respect.

   "Thanks."