My father who is about to turn 94 and is suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, served in WWII where he was a captain in the infantry. He landed on the beaches of France in the D-day invasion and was wounded there, shipped back to England for 6 weeks and then rejoined his division. He fought from hedgerow to hedgerow, in soggy fields, dense forests, liberating villages, pushing back the Nazis and then marched into Paris.
He fought in the Battle of the Bulge, which was the Nazis last stand before they were thankfully defeated. He was awarded two purple hearts, the Bronze star, and other medals.
No one de-programmed him when he came back from the horrors that he had seen, “over there.” He married my mother dressed in his uniform. There is a picture that I have of him when he arrived back in the states, where Dad looks disturbed…
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