He was a gentle man who risked his life to fight fascism. He didn’t have to. His vision was so bad it could have prevented him from serving. But he went anyway, because of the stakes, the threat to the world, to humanity.
When he was injured in battle, he received the Purple Star. Twelve weeks later, he returned to the front lines, and was decorated for his service with a Bronze Star.
I miss him every day, but I’m glad he did not live to see the results of this election. He would have been horrified. He did not battle fascism overseas to see it rise in the country he loved, the country he served so proudly.
Today, especially, I remember his selflessness, his principles, and his courage.
And, sadly, I’m reminded of the need to fight.