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November 11, 2013
For Dorothy
There are the bottles and pills and blankets to be attended to.
Then I sit next to the worst of them, mummies still alive, lost to sight and sound. There is nothing to do but put my hand on their arm. It is the hand of every mother and wife and daughter and girlfriend and nurse and stranger I wield. Of every human woman that ever walked and talked. I know their face is just a smear on the back of the bandages, and it's a long way to Okinawa. Let them feel our hand one more time. Sippican Cottage: Veterans Day
Posted by gerardvanderleun at November 11, 2013 10:43 AM. This is an entry on the sideblog of American Digest: Check it out.
Your Say
Oh my....Oh my my. nowords.
Posted by: Patvann at November 11, 2013 6:34 PM
I have two aunts who were nurses overseas in WWII, Bernice and Marie Becker. Both would not talk about it either.
Both surgery nurses. Both lived well into their nineties .
One worked part time until she was 83 on an ortho floor.
Posted by: Grace at November 12, 2013 9:10 PM