Joan
that transformation happened
with each wedding six daughters
bride or bridesmaid in turn
each solo with your father
Daddy’s little girl the ritual
dance
at table with mother and brothers
we saw the alchemy at work
knew he had brought the war home
Saw
more the miracle
love forgiving understanding overcoming
Merrill’s Marauder never
wore the medals
too many for his lean chest
Purple Heart Bronze Star Presidential
Unit Emblem
Honorable Service World War Two
Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal with
Four Service Stars Etc. Etc.
No
medals for the malaria typhus dysentery,
more often than he could remember
wet muddied hungry in the jungle
few of them survived
In the
close world of parish school
you and your sister Kathleen met a brother
and a sister who recognized your name:
Your Dad carried our Dad half way across
China
Deeper
than the wound that won a Purple Heart
his anguish over killing to discover on the man
a photo of his own wife and two children
remorse he took with him to the grave
His
medals became plowshares with you
your testimony before Congress against
a draft for Vietnam and again your training
to counsel conscientious objectors
I
remember him in later years
this man of brothers priests and sisters nuns
across the room at family gatherings
removed but gracious a hint of a smile
All of
us spread out on chairs and floor
children and spouses grandchildren
all ages too many to count a comfort
to him needing that comfort
After
Mass I would say to no one but myself
Next time Ray should do the homily
this man who knows more of life and death
courage and weakness than I or any priest