Winter in the beautiful area where I live can be a mixture of beauty and mystery....as in the picture you see here.
The past two years have been a challenge for every living soul, and I take comfort in the surroundings I see every day.
In searching for a past Christmas letter I came across this poignant blog I received a few years ago. At that time it brought someone I never knew closer. Hucky was my uncle. He was taken before I was even born. I have been blessed with a loving family and so many memories of years gone by.
I want to share this story relayed by my this vet, my Uncle Bob, who made this long ago story come home to my heart.
Christmas 1944
A vet remembers
Christmas 1944
Today's blog was written by Col. Robert O. Wray, USAF (ret.), a decorated veteran and father of Blue Star CEO Rob Wray.
The
Christmas season has always been of special significance to those who serve
their country in faraway places. We've all probably read of the terrible
trench battles of World War I and the spontaneous truce the front-line Allied
and opposing German troops declared one particular Christmas Eve.
In
World War II, one Christmas also held a special significance to my family, but
not a happy one. German and Allied forces were once again involved.
On
20 December 1944, the German army launched a last-ditch attempt to drive Allied
forces back to the beaches of Europe. It was described as the Battle of
the Bulge, a breakthrough of Allied lines by a furious German counterattack.
Eventually, Allied forces overcame the German effort, but at the cost of
tens of thousands of casualties on both sides. There was no Christmas
truce that year, no shaking hands and singing carols with the opponents.
Harold
"Huck" Wray
My
half-brother, Harold, was one of those who died during that battle. He
was barely out of high school, where he'd starred in football.
After enlisting, Huck, as we called him, was assigned to a tank destroyer
outfit and shipped to Europe. He was the youngest son of my father
by his first wife, and I only met him on rare occasions.
I can
only now imagine Dad's sorrow when the War Department notified us of his son's
death. Dad was of the ilk that wouldn't display personal distress in front of
my twin sister and me. We were just 12 that year and the war meant to us gas
rationing, no bubble gum, collecting tin foil, flattening and saving tin cans,
collecting cattails to be used in life jackets as a substitute for kapok,
knitting blanket squares, buying savings stamps and war bonds, and joining Dad
during his tours of plane spotting up on the highest hill in the area.
Death was a vague and distant concept to us then.
So, I
did not fully appreciate the price that Dad paid in World War II until I saw my
own children and grandchildren enter the military and go in harm's way.
Now I only wish I had been more sensitive to my Dad's sorrow and less
concerned with what presents I would find under the tree. During that Christmas
season of 1944, Huck was buried far from home. Dad never got the chance
to visit his grave.
A final
thought: It would be a travesty not to think about those left at home at
Christmas with a family member overseas. I still hear tales of my wife
staying up all night one Christmas Eve when I was in Vietnam, trying to assemble
toys that Daddy was not there to take care of. A minor difficulty,
perhaps, but one example of the vacuum in family life developing when a military
member is gone. It's not just the soldier who serves our country...it's
the whole family with their love and support that boosts and maintains the
morale of our deployed armed forces. In many ways, I've discovered, it's
harder to stay behind and keep up the home front than to cope with the overseas
assignment in troubling times. May we always keep those serving in mind
and may we always give thanks at Christmas time for the freedoms they earned
and continue to guard in this great country of ours.
