Requiem for a Hero

In dealing with the death of a loved one, a person knows that they are going to have rough times ahead. I recently found out that it can be somewhat worse if the person you lost is a World War II veteran.

My grandfather was born into a terrible family situation. His father had been killed by one of his uncles before he was born. His mother did not want him as her child; so she had him moved off to live with an Uncle on an Indian reservation.

Eventually, he signed up for the United States Army, and became part of the First Infantry Division. The Army quickly became the mother and the father he never had. He was very proud to serve his nation and did anything he could to become a “perfect soldier”. This “perfect soldier” was 19 when he was shipped off to World War II.

One of the places he fought at was Omaha Beach, as one of the first soldiers on the ground for the Normandy Invasion. He recounted stories of how he had grenades strapped to his body, so if he was shot he’d make a big “impression” so the next soldier would have some place to avoid enemy fire. Even at this, my grandfather did not complain. If he was killed serving the United States, he had died honorably. Just prior to the Normandy Invasion, he had served in North Africa. Out of his battalion, only 14 of the original 200+ survived.

He never really told a lot of stories about the war, but when he did you would never forget them. I recall sitting at the kitchen table with him as he told me a tale of how he saved one of his friend’s lives. They were walking through a field when his friend had his stomach ripped open by shrapnel. Grandpa sat behind his friend and held his intestines in until a medic could get to them. This soldier survived because of my grandfather.

From the very limited stories I have been told, I could tell my grandfather was quite a solider; that is why I find the Army’s treatment of him so confusing. He had been wounded many times in the course of his military service, but from what I understand, he was hurt the worst in Africa. He applied for assistance from VA, but for some reason was denied. After that, he never tried to get help again. He felt it would be dishonorable to “beg” for help from the government.

My grandfather lived through some of the most horrid battles that humans have ever seen. But, on December 31, 2000, he lost his battle with emphysema. He lived through the invasion of Normandy, warfare in Northern Africa and Korea, yet a cigarette killed him.

Immediately after he died, our family started having problems. My grandmother did not receive his last military retirement check. The excuse they gave was that "he didn't make it through Dec. 31, so he didn't make it through December."

As if this wasn't bad enough, my grandmother is having a rough time getting any aid whatsoever from the government. Apparently there was a fire in 1973 which burned over 80% of the military records being kept in St. Louis. And, lucky us, my grandfather's records were involved. Every record they had of his service in the military was destroyed. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but my grandfather's copies of his records do not show any wounds or any of his medals. Grandpa was the recipient of a purple heart or two.

If I could just find a way to prove that my grandfather was, in fact, wounded during his stay in the military, I could help my grandmother receive the back pay owed to my grandfather. She could get out of debt, and not worry about when her house is going to be taken from her.

I received very little help from VA. They said he did in fact have a VA file, and did report an injury. They said he was a certain percent disabled, but for some reason, he couldn't receive aid from it.

As for his funeral, we had to fight to get him a military service. We were able to find just enough proof of his stint in the military that we could get him a decent funeral. And, there was enough proof to get just one of his honors on his tombstone. The Silver Star.

It's so frustrating because I remember looking at the bayonet wounds on my grandfather....the scars from where shrapnel sliced into his skin. I can even recall looking at pictures of him in his well decorated uniform and knowing that a great man stood before me. A man who wanted nothing more than to serve his country and make it a safe place for his family to live. His country never had to ask him for help, he gladly gave it. But, when his family needs help, his country is unwilling to give it.