My dad, giving a salute to his fallen fellow soldiers at Omaha Beach

As a surgeon I have seen the effects of the left-overs of war. One of my first jobs was as an attending in the Veteran’s Hospital in Phoenix. There you see people aged beyond their years, whose lives were dramatically altered by serving our country. I remember seeing the Viet Nam vets who were old; way beyond their years from scars we couldn’t see or couldn’t imagine.

I’ve had two brothers who served during that conflict, and both were affected by it- my one brother who died later turned out he had three medals we never knew about. My other brother just never talks about it other than the occasional comment about the oxymoron of military intelligence (which he served in).

My father is a part of “the greatest generation” and at 89 years old looks better than those vets I saw years ago. Last year he decided to go to Normandy for the 66th anniversary of D-day. So my family joined him on a trip where we heard and saw places that I had only seen in movies. Dad never talked about his service, although lately he has started to- going to reunions of the few left in the 44th – exchanging stories.

Mom tells a story that when she and dad were dating, they went to fourth of July celebrations and as they heard the fireworks dad instinctively ducked. They were able to laugh about it- but it is difficult to imagine that my dad was on the front lines of the battle of the Bulge and incoming fire devastated his fellow troops.

To all of our veterans, thank you for your service- we know the cost can never be measured- and we can never thank you enough