As a child, I remember snippets of him. Always said in a hushed whisper. I was too young to understand the whispers were said in reverence.
I remember his picture on the wall and learning, over the years, just who that handsome young man was. Morris, Uncle Soren and Aunt Nora’s son, Dad’s cousin, Grandma and Grandpa’s nephew, lost in the war.
Like many of their generation, they rarely spoke of him. Too painful. Dad would shake his head and leave the room.
But that picture .. it remained on the wall.
And every year when Dad and others attended Remembrance Day ceremonies and helped place the wreaths in memory, I think he was there.
He became more than just the man in the picture on the wall.
Thank you, Morris.