Moving on with Life (Mine)
Warning: You may not care about what experiences I’ve personally gleaned during my march towards my life’s pre-determined completion date, this would be a great time to stop reading; it will probably be one of the few times in my life where I have placed myself in command of another’s individual’s decision making process. (Or maybe not.)
With concern, no modesty. Just the truth! Mine alone! Thinking way back to age six isn’t as demanding a task as one might imagine it to be, especially, if the someone happens to be Harvey Kalmenson.
Both sides of my mother’s and father’s families had immigrated from Eastern Europe. Dad from Russia, Mom from Rumania (Romania). Both became prideful citizens of America, as ardent a pair of patriots as God allowed them to become during their lifetime together.
Between the two families we had eighteen cousins, brothers and sisters all being reared by grandparents stemming from immigrant stock. Without exception, my relatives became successful within the confines of the greatest country ever to exist on this planet, the United States of America.
The year was 1939. And the world as we knew it, then, had been ignited with a match struck by a mad bastard named Adolf Hitler. Hitler’s trip into power brought with it his goal to eliminate the entire world population of the Jewish people.
In order to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I find myself suffering the same malady of my immigrant relatives. Yesterday is once again rearing its ugly head. This former six-year-old boy is now a few days away from being ninety. I’m being horribly reminded of what transpired some eighty plus years ago.
My thoughts today remind me of the yesterdays of a six-year-old boy. Without trying, I became a fearless adult known for his athletic skills. Today, as I read what I had written to my wife, Cathy, I found it impossible to hold back my tears. While there wasn’t any noticeable odor in my office, this soon to be ninety-year-old man was again reminded of the horrible stench of death.
My father’s words to me became mine. And so I offer you a father and son’s painful retrieval. As passed on to his son, me, and again brought back to life soon after returning from my service in the United States Army. A relentless dream never diminished by the passing through of a newly believing generation. Some remain in disbelief that the Holocaust ever happened.
A Revisited Dream
What his parents were forced to see
They killed a wife and grandfather’s child
Without reservation, I cried
Each day, forever
Stopping only for the time to take life from you
Your death didn’t relieve my grief
I will cry forever!
And so we do