It’s strange seeing you like this.
I know you’re not actually here.
Even that last time I saw you, held you, carried you…
You were not actually there.
The time before that, you waved.
You grinned as you shouldered your pack.
“Good luck mate.” I called. “Go carefully.”
I never thought you wouldn’t come back.
This hewn marble over your head
Tells me little about you.
I can read that you were ‘BELOVED
SON. BROTHER. FRIEND.’
I can read your rank, your name, your age…
I’m older than you now. That’s strange.
I can see that you were a soldier,
A Rifleman, a Jew.
But I cannot see your laugh, your smile…
I still cannot see you.
You were more than the sum of all these parts.
You were you. You. You are you.
You are there in the moments of life when all is good.
You kept good company and still do…
You live on in all of us whose lives you touched.
And we love you.