My grandfather died Sunday. The funeral will be at Arlington National Cemetery. He was a doctor in the U.S. Navy. He was up walking the deck, a few minutes before sick call, when the Japanese planes appeared over Pearl Harbor. And, afterward, he did triage — choosing who would die, who they would let die, because there weren’t enough doctors to save everyone who should have lived. That was the part it hurt him to talk about.

I’ve cried for him and my family. And I’ve also cried because it’s through his pain that I read that the U.S. keeps bombing the city of Baghdad. It’s like bombing San Francisco instead of Pearl Harbor. In Basra there’s not enough water to drink. Someone there is having to choose which kids, who should all have lived, will have to die.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 25th, 2003 at 5:47 pm and is filed under old-hyperfiction-blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.