March 5, 2009

"He ducked down and crept into the bomb bay"

The father of our friend Sippican of Sippican's Cottage died Sunday.    Our condolences to him and his family on their loss. 

He posts My Father Asks for Nothing.

My father asks me for nothing, really. Every three months or so, I take him to his doctor, who pokes about him wondering what keeps him animated, and that's about it. He's grown frail, and has discovered the joys of "Not Going." It takes a lot to get him to leave the comfort and safety of his house. I was really surprised when he called me on Saturday, because he asked me to take him somewhere.
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We went along the side of the plane, creeping along at the pace my father goes, my father assiduously avoiding walking between the fuselage and the props -- a habit sixty years old and more -- and he saw his chance. He ducked down and crept into the bomb bay.

Down came the hands. No one needed to be told who that man was, or why he was there. Everyone behind paused to wait patiently and respectfully, and everyone within reach helped me pick that old, frail, brave man up to look on the nuts and bolts of that totem of his distant life. And they thanked him, and they asked him questions, and marveled at him.

It's always sad to see another of the Greatest Generation pass away as the world turns. 

R.I.P.

Posted by Jill Fallon at March 5, 2009 10:51 AM | Permalink