3) A FlowerOfAppreciation

A FlowerOfAppreciation

She stood next to the fighter plane, holding a flower in her hand. She smiled proudly, feeling empowered and confident. She was one of the few women who had served in the Air Force during World War II, flying missions and delivering supplies to the front lines. She had seen the horrors of war, but also the courage and camaraderie of her fellow pilots. She had met her husband, Brian, a bomber pilot, during one of her flights. They had fallen in love and married shortly after the war ended.

They were here today, at the veterans' memorial, to honor those who had served their country, especially those who had given their lives for freedom. They listened to the speeches and the songs, feeling grateful and nostalgic. They saw many familiar faces, some old friends, some new acquaintances. They shared stories and memories, laughter and tears.

She looked at the flower in her hand. It was a poppy, a symbol of remembrance and appreciation for the fallen soldiers. She had picked it from a field near their home, where they had grown wild every spring since the war. She thought of all the people she had known who had died in the war, some of them close friends, some of them strangers. She thought of their families and loved ones, who had suffered so much loss and grief. She thought of how lucky she was to have survived and to have found love.

She decided to give the flower to someone who needed it more than she did. She walked around the memorial, looking for someone who looked lonely or sad. She saw a man sitting on a bench, wearing a faded uniform with medals on his chest. He looked old and tired, his eyes staring blankly at the ground. He was holding a cane in one hand and a picture frame in the other. She approached him gently and sat next to him.

"Hello," she said softly. "May I sit with you?"

He looked up at her with surprise and nodded.

"Thank you," he said in a raspy voice.

She smiled at him and introduced herself.

"I'm Jeanne," she said. "I was a pilot in the Air Force during the war."

He nodded again and told her his name.

"I'm Frank," he said. "I was a prisoner of war in Germany."

He showed her the picture frame he was holding. It was a photo of a young woman with curly hair and a bright smile.

"This is my wife," he said. "She died while I was in captivity. I never got to say goodbye."

He choked back a sob and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"I'm so sorry," she said, feeling a surge of compassion for him. "She was beautiful."

He smiled sadly and thanked her.

"She was," he said. "She was my everything."

He told her how they had met before the war, how they had married and had a son, how he had enlisted in the Army and been captured by the Nazis during the Battle of the Bulge. He told her how he had endured torture and starvation in Stalag Luft III, how he had escaped during a forced march and been rescued by American troops. He told her how he had returned home only to find out that his wife had died of pneumonia and his son had been sent to an orphanage.

He told her how he had searched for his son for years, but never found him. He told her how he had lived alone ever since, haunted by his memories and his guilt.

She listened to him with empathy and respect, feeling his pain and his courage. She held his hand and squeezed it gently.

"You are not alone," she said. "You have me."

He looked at her with gratitude and wonder.

"Thank you," he said. "You are very kind."

She took out the flower from her hand and gave it to him.

"This is for you," she said. "A FlowerOfAppreciation for your service and your sacrifice."

He took the flower from her and held it close to his heart.

"Thank you," he said again. "This means a lot to me."

They hugged each other and cried together.

They stayed there for a while, talking and comforting each other. They felt a connection that transcended time and space, that bridged their differences and their experiences. They felt like they had known each other for a long time, like they were old friends, like they were family.

They decided to exchange phone numbers and keep in touch. They agreed to meet again soon and visit each other's homes. They agreed to help each other find their lost loved ones, their son and their husband. They agreed to support each other and to celebrate life.

They stood up and walked away from the bench, holding hands and smiling. They felt a new hope and a new joy in their hearts. They felt loved and heard. They felt valued and appreciated.

They felt alive.

 

HeartThrob #FAE 
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WITH RESPECT TO:  Yaeunda and The Genius Room

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Here is a blog I did on my Thoughts and struggles on a bad day (Depression) the-last-flower

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