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I Wanted to See His Name… Not Just Touch It

“If you find it, try to get a photograph of his name… Everyone always brings me back a rubbing…. But I want to see his name, high up on that wall that everyone says is so hard to reach.”

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I want to see his name, so it can help me try to capture the essence of being lifted by those hands, when he took me soaring up to the ceiling of that majestic house with the walnut railings, with the green marble-lined fireplace. He was so tall, and I can still remember how everyone used to marvel at how tall he was. And he lifted me so high, and wasn’t even afraid he might drop me.

Funny. I honestly can’t imagine one of my own boys doing that to a little girl at the age of 19.

These are the things I want to ponder as I look at the photograph he sent me tonight; as I remember Walter Cronkite visiting our living rooms, the dreaded draft hat had everyone on edge, and the new shoes I wore to the funeral that took all of our breath away.

Thank you for the photo….

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