Tell me how love killed grandpa
when nothing else could.
How he was blasted into the after-life
by a grenade while trying to save another.
How they were sure he'd died,
and even issued his death certificate.
How they sent a folded flag and stoic soldier
to tell my great-grandma her son had died nobly.
Tell me how the morgue attendant
saw him cough and twitch.
How the shrapnel ripped him to shreds,
severing the blood supply to his brain.
How doctors told him he'd never walk,
or talk, or even sit up again.
How they gave him a Purple Heart
to make up for his broken body.
How he was too willful to be beaten by WWII, Korea,
or a doctor's grim diagnosis.
Tell me how I'm the daughter
of a dead man's son.
How grandpa refused to be crippled
by the forgotten war.
How he taught himself to sit up and walk,
at first with crutches and then unassisted.
How he learned to tie his shoes using only one hand,
and talk through damaged vocal cords.
How he conceived you 6 years later,
and the newspapers called him a 'True American Hero.'
Tell me how he finally died
of a broken heart.
How young and full of life grandma was
when Alzheimer's disease took her.
How quickly she forgot everything,
even how to swallow and breathe.
How you were orphaned so early in life,
no older than I am now.
How grandpa's big courageous heart could lose anything
but her.