My father's home on Ie Shima, where he heard the news of the end of the war. He lived in the pyramidal tent from April through September 1945. It looks primitive: but he did have a radio.
It is sixty six years ago this week that World War II finally came to its end. I was at an event this past weekend that honored those who served and marked the war's end. I was so impressed by the numbers of people of all ages who walked from table to table; listening, talking about family members who served, and, I was impressed by the pride and patriotism I saw there.
It made me look back to my father's letters from Ie Shima, the little island off Okinawa where he was serving when the war finally ceased. Where the Japanese bombers came over each night. Where the mud was so deep it sucked off their boots. Where the mosquitoes were so thick they wore their shirts buttoned at the wrist, even in the hottest weather. This is what my father--who was not yet my father--wrote my mother when he heard the news. They had been apart since February 1945, and had been married not yet a year:
