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A quote: “I’d rather regret the things I’ve done than regret the things I haven’t done.” ~~ Lucille Ball
I’ll start with a story …
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A snippet of music floats across the lake catching my ear … “it was the summer of 69” … and memories flood in.
I was 17 that summer of burnt shoulders and beating hearts. It was his sky-blue eyes I remember most. Blond hair falling over his forehead, a crooked smile and smooth, oh very smooth, skin on the back of his neck. We made our promises, too, at summer’s end, broken by a cruel winter’s cull in Vietnam.
I could have been bitter. But as I look at our grandson, golden curls and summer eyes, I’d do it again.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license
Stephen says: I always enjoy reading the 100 Word Challenges, but this one really touched me and I thank you for it. My mother was 20 and pregnant with me when her husband flew to Vietnam in the summer of ’69. This is her story. I am very grateful for my daughter, most particularly when we visit one of the Traveling Walls.
Darleen Click says: Thank you, I’m humbled.
Cameron says: The sun was setting but there was still enough warmth in the air to make this moment perfect. We spoke promises to each other that we would fight to keep no matter how what happened.
“Grandpa? You all right?”
The question from my grandson brings me back. The remembered warmth is replaced with an ache that never quite leaves. I smile at him. He’s a good kid even if we have our disagreements about things.
“Sorry, kiddo. Just woolgathering.” He had just made a promise to a girl on that dock. I hoped his life would be just as good.
Even today, all my memories of that summer are suffused with a golden light. We met almost by accident, at the old paddle boat dock. He was returning one, and I was waiting for one to come in so I could rent it. He helped me get aboard and wished me an enjoyable hour on the lake.
A momentary encounter, I had thought at the time. I certainly hadn’t expected to find him wailing at the tiny video arcade.
We walked together through the park, talking about life, the universe and everything. As the shadows grew longer, we exchanged phone numbers before saying our goodbyes.
That summer is a series of images flashing across the screen of memory. Younger siblings’ baseball games, the county fair, Fourth of July fireworks, picnics in the park and visits to the old ice cream stand.
And then it all ended. He was taking me home after a movie, and we were talking about plans for fall. My next memory is coming to in the hospital, with my folks and even Grandma by my bedside.
There’d been a bad wreck in front of us, multiple vehicles. He’d tried to swerve clear of the one spinning at us, but there hadn’t need enough room. Instead of us being hit head-on, the other car had slammed into the driver’s side.
It took a couple of years to even consider dating again. I don’t know how much was an unwillingness to expose myself to the possibility of another loss, and how much was feeling that entering another relationship would be somehow unworthy after that act of self-sacrifice.
In the end, I realized that he’d given his life so I could live, not linger as a sort of widow who’d never even been a bride.
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