Above is a photo of the 24" X 28" sketch I did of my ex-husband's father. Plucked from his family, and his profession, he served his country in a selfless way.
I don't have a photo of my grandfather (that I could sketch from) and I don't know what he looked like. I could only illustrate in words how he was in his last days. He was in the Death (Bataan) March, WWII, knowing that that would be the end of his life. He would not see his newborn daughter, my mother, again. My grandmother said that he died not instantly , as a bullet and bayonet would have ensured, but had a slow death caused by dysentery. The soldiers had no food and water, and they just had to lick the water on the ground. I could only surmise not just the physical suffering he may have had but also the suffering of his soul. His body was never found. Only a few lived to tell the tale.
The very reason for his absence now in this world, i.e. giving one's life for one's country, is pervasive . We mourn for the lost lives and lost souls. Freedom is a dream that seemed elusive to some but not to them. And that is the very reason they fought for, choose to fight for, and forced to fight for. The war continues and the dream of freedom lives.
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