I'm astonished to have stumbled on a much-loved poem~~lost here in the ether. I just turned 78 this week and have new friends here in Covenant Place, in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. My father fought in the South Pacific in WW2. He was what is called a survivor. As was I, his first-born, his namesake. I'm still surviving. He was from Jackson, Mississippi, as was his father. Both of them sons of love, deep care, and mysterious, intense hate and ignorance. Bible Belt goodness and ... ignorance. Terrifying, powerful, love, and hate. In the middle of the Viet Nam war I fell hopelessly in love, a professor, history, son of a spoiled genius. Who chose, as I saw it, to fight in the war in South Vietnam. The Army financed his university education. [Even now I don't know who financed his father's.] John repaid his debt by going to war. "No one more humane than I could fill that slot." Hating the futile war as I did, I favored fleeing to Canada. In a few horrifying, heart-breaking years my poem "Invisible War Widow" was born. All my huge, powerful love was inadequate to meet his needs along with mine to to care for our daughter and his illness. Over the years I collapsed. And left. My daughter's fine life helps me heal.

Marsha, I only just read this comment on a post from a few months ago. Thank you for sharing your story. I can feel the love and pain and resilience. Isn’t it amazing how a poem can help us heal and connect us to one another?