Someday they will show an anniversary memorial and more tears will fall.  Because I cannot stop them.  And I won’t have to tell the story because my face will tell it for me. 

Someday there will be a documentary on television and I will tell again the story of newscasts and turning them off and then on again and then off; not knowing who to believe and not wanting to believe.  And I will tell the story of real people behind those newscasts.  

Someday I will pull out a notebook with prayers inside.  And another tear will fall, but a smile will escape as well.  And I’ll tell the story again of early morning prayers and church prayers and middle of the night prayers.

Someday I will pull out cards and letters and I will tell the story of heroes.  I will tell of red, white and blue stickers placed on Christmas cards in October so they would get there in time.  And I will tell the story of thank you notes that made us feel ashamed that we couldn’t do more. 

Someday I will tell the story of scrapbook pages full of Army green and Air Force Blue.  But, they won’t understand that story, not all of it, because you have to be Green or Blue to understand.  But they will still be proud. 

Someday they will read history books, but I won’t be able to because it will be too painful to see the story reduced to a chapter in a textbook.  I will tell them the story myself.

Someday they will run off and play, my grandchildren, after I have finished my story.  And they will not have a care in the world because you made sure the story had a happy ending. 

Someday I will point to pictures in yellowed newspapers and tell them where I was.  And I will tell them where you were.  And a tear will fall.