I am fiercely patriotic. I love America. I have stars snd stripes on the walls of my kitchen hanging near to a copy of the Declaration of Independence. Up until we moved to Alabama, an American flag flew every day at my home in Wisconsin (I just haven't found a place for it yet). I love red, white and blue. I love that our country has "under God" in its pledge. I admire our Constitution. And recently I painted a bird house with the words "God bless America" on it. "America is the home of the free, because of the brave," I once read on a bumper sticker. I couldn't agree more. We are a blessed nation with servicemen and women who put their lives in harm's way for the sake of our country. And I am grateful to them.
My grandfather, John Lauritzen, was one of those men. In 1945, he served in World War II, leaving behind a wife and four children ages 15, 5, 4 and 2. My Dad was the 5 year old. On Feb. 2, 1945, Grandpa wrote this letter/poem to my grandmother, Elizabeth:
My Dearest Mommy:
(never knew your Daddy as a poet, did you?)
I know I cannot write a poem
About a lovely place like home;
A home where my wife and children pray
Their Daddy soon comes back to stay.
I do know I will always feel
A love so deep, so strong and real;
That all this suffering I now see,
Will not in future bother me.
I want my mind and my heart, too,
To be reserved for all of you
To start where our lives stopped before
God, please, end all this darned old war!
How's that?
Love from your Daddy.
Two days before my grandmother received this letter, a telegram from the United States government was delivered to her informing her that my grandfather was killed in action Feb. 16, 1945. My Dad says he remembers Grandma sitting on her bed holding the telegram in her hand and sobbing. He says he knew, before she said anything, that his Daddy was never coming home again.
Grandma couldn't afford to have Grandpa's body shipped back home. Instead she was sent his belongings and what they found on his body ... which included two pictures: one of my grandmother and the other of his three preschool children. John Lauritzen was buried alongside 7,992 other American fallen in Germany at the Henri-Chapelle American Cemetary in Belgium. Just recently, my Dad made a trip there to see his father's gravestone cross. It's just one in a sea of white crosses arched across the grassy field. Dad said it gave him finally the chance to say good-bye to his father ... more than six decades later.
My grandfather fought, bled and died for America. Jesus, when refering to a sacrifice He was about to pay for all our sakes, said in John 15:13: "Greater love has no man that this, that he lay down his life for his friends." I am so proud of the grandfather I've never met. And I look forward to the day when I can thank him in person for his sacrifice. When I asked my grandmother about him once, she said, "He was the love of my life."
This Memorial Weekend, I am remembering with honor Americans who died serving this country ... like John H. Lauritzen, one of the brave.
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