We buried my friend Harold yesterday. He was 94. He was a navy pilot during the second war. If you asked what it was like, he'd tell self deprecating stories about being scared to land on a carrier deck. Scared he might have been, but he did it over and over again.
He was unfailingly a gentleman, always elegantly dressed, steady as a rock emotionally, and he was almost always positive and upbeat. He faced life and death the way any real man would hope to do.
We can wish and hope and pray, but we're not going to see his like again.
He was unfailingly a gentleman, always elegantly dressed, steady as a rock emotionally, and he was almost always positive and upbeat. He faced life and death the way any real man would hope to do.
We can wish and hope and pray, but we're not going to see his like again.
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