in my dreams, i see you with her,
holding her in your arms
just as you did when she was
still a little girl at the yellow
house in berkeley. she is with
you now, i know. somewhere
but safe. and i am glad. i
can rest easier at night
though i should not sleep.
your eyes, mary elizabeth,
those eyes that always
looked at me as if i were
your only daughter, the
daughter you never had.
everyone said that
after you returned from
your third tour of duty in
viet nam, you were never
the same. perhaps the
truth is you became more
yourself - after months
of eating and sleeping with
the stench of death bags
from the warehouse at
da nang and walking
amongst rows and rows of
white gauze eyes at the
burn center in japan.
tell me, nurse. what did
you see? what did you
come to understand? maybe
we'll never know, lt.
mary elizabeth mclaren,
usn, ret. - maybe we
were never meant to know.
still, please take care of
my dearest friend.
into your arms i commit
her spirit. may she
die gentle beneath those
eyes and find her perfect,
her most perfect, peace.
