10 days ago now
on Remembrance Day
I remembered the war
(well, one of the wars; you know, they have been, ARE, pretty much endless)
the one my own biological father fought in
World War II
My father bombed
(among many cities)
(the Florence of the Elbe, I believe they called it)
a truly stunning city, it was … & is now again (I’ve been there, I saw it; it’s stunning!)
Unable to feel proud or triumphant
About all those bombs he dropped
All those people he killed
Let’s not pretend I am proud
How could I be??
& the thought came quickly
unbidden, not particularly welcome
to me, that day, as I reflected on Remembrance Day
that divorce is very like a war
with fallout that lasts forever
(especially when children – innocent civilians – are involved)
I generally say I don’t care about my father
(Who was not a kind man, it is said
Even before he “went to war”)
But two days later
In a library at a table with a Remembrance Day display of books
I found myself standing & paging through an entire book about soldiers
Pilots, bomber men, from WWII
…looking for my father
It was the same day the attacks, the carnage, took place in Paris
Friday the 13th.
This we know.
& we “innocent civilians”
will remain mystified
When & how & why did all this … carnage begin?
Can we never put an end to this fallout?
Apparently we are tasked with somehow, somehow, making peace with endless war
p.s. on Dec. 30/15. Oh my word; cannot believe I failed to note that if you are looking for your father, or wondering about your father, & trying to understand yourself, still, after all these years & decades, you really must read the book reviewed here: oh yes, you must!!