An old friend gone home

Yesterday, I spent a bunch of time at the Veterans Administration Hospital in Dallas. I had plenty of time to think what I wanted to blip. It came to me that I had not visited my old friend Marty since the day we took him to his grave at the National Cemetery here in town. It was right on my way home, so I stopped by.

We both learned our flight crew jobs together. We drank hard. Bragged too much. And let our egos outgrow our abilities. All good traits in a crew member.

Marty was taken away too soon. Cancer tore his soul. The treatments bloated his body. We seldom agreed on politics or women, but I miss him anyway.

Several photos of my visit are on my flickr account. The one I selected here was a screw up. Way overexposed. Much like my memories of Marty and others who died in Vietnam. Real life does not capture what is in my mind and my heart.

Another shot was of the graves of a father and son. Cloyde C. Pinson Sr. and Jr. laying together forever.

I hate war. But the pain that the warriors feel lingers long beyond the silencing of the guns and politicians.