Saying Thanks

I almost walked right by him. I was stopping at the grocery store to pick up a few items and was trying to get in and out quickly. The woman in front of me stopped suddenly, so I did too – mostly so I wouldn’t walk into her. And then I saw him.

He was off to the side, sitting on a bench. He was an elderly man, wearing a baseball cap and holding a can. His old, gnarled hands were clutching a little bouquet of the red poppies you see Veterans selling to raise money for disabled veterans.

His name was Ben and he was 80 years old. He was among the troops that stormed the beaches at Normandy sixty one years ago to save the world and Europe from a madman.

When my husband and I were still dating, I thought a lot about World War 2. About how it would take days, weeks and maybe even months before you heard from a loved one. I thought how easy Husband and I had it, to be able to communicate by email and phone. How reassuring I would feel, if even just for a moment, to hear his voice and know that he was okay. And how worried I would be if too many days went by without an email.

Ben didn’t want to speak about what he did that day. I gave him a dollar or two and in return he gave me a poppy. I said, "thank you for what you did that day, for your service" and he told me to thank my husband for his service.

I guess it takes a hero to know a hero.