I remember him.

My spitting image he was.

From a toddler and lad-

to when he shaved his “fuzz”.

He went from trike to bike.

A car was his next plan.

Drafted when he bought it-

my son became a man.

I remember him.

My little bundle of joy.

He clung to my side-

he was mama’s little boy.

He grew tall and strong

was head and shoulders above.

Before he shipped out

he married his second love.

I remember him.

I would often tag along.

He would always have a joke-

or a silly song.

I was his maid of honor

and little sister.

I cried knowing he’d leave

soon after he kissed her.

I remember him.

He held the door and my chair.

Complimented my dresses

and my curly hair.

He was a true gentleman.

I, his blushing bride.

His leaving left me mixed

with bitterness and pride.

I remember him

in photo albums alone.

I viewed his short life

in the pictures I was shown.

Mother told me

he fell at the enemy’s gun.

He never came home

to hold me, his only son.

“I remember him

by passing him on to you.

Your dear grandfather died

for the Red, White and Blue.”

My daughter climbed my lap

a tear started to brim,

“Show me too daddy…

so I can remember him.”