My heart is heavy as I write this post. I have started and stopped writing this so many times, wanting to share the sad news but still hurting deeply with every keystroke as I write this.

My father passed away in November 2021; he was 94 years old. Another generation gone, another hero laid to rest. My father was a strong patriarch of our Martin family, he was strong and kind and gentle, and a true patriot. I was blessed to have him live with me the last three years of his life, and it was three years I will never forget.

My father had an amazing photographic memory and would tell us stories about his life with incredible detail. What touched my heart the most is that he remembered the names of everyone; the old man down the road who bought his eggs in 1933, the woman who gave him peaches to pay for ice he delivered in an old buckboard in 1940, the fellow navy colleague he celebrated with in Times Square at the end of WWII, and the men he served beside in the military from 1944 to 1969. It always amazed me how detailed his memory was. He said remembering those details was the key to keeping his mind sharp. His memory and mind were clear to the end, as his body faded away. More importantly to him, he remembered the birth date of every child, grandchild and great-grandchild. He remembered the name of the song he and my mother danced to at their wedding 60 years earlier. He remembered her favorite color and favorite flower. It seemed he remembered everything. Sadly, I wonder sometimes if that is a gift or a burden when one becomes old and fragile.

My father had a great life and a challenging life; the end so different than the beginning. He grew up during the great depression in Oklahoma. When my children were learning about American history, he made it real when he told us stories about living in Oklahoma during the dust bowl and how his mom would put rags under the door and in every window to stop the dust from coming in and choking them.

He told us about when he joined the Navy when he was 17 in 1944 and his time fighting in the European Theater during WWII. He talked more about the people he served with than the fear of being on a ship off the beach of Normandy on D-Day, or the horror of clean-up detail a few days later. He talked about the people he met in Japan when stationed there and the experiences of living and raising a young family in a place so far from home. He talked about the sweltering heat of Vietnam and how they trained in the rain forest of Hawaii before going to Phan Rang Airbase, and the men who depended on him as they defended the perimeter of the base, rather than the constant hum of helicopters in and out every hour of every day and the challenges they faced.

I remember when he came home from Vietnam. I was young, and he brought gifts. China for my mother and older sisters, a straw hat for me, something for my brothers. But the memory I have most about that time was the jar of coins he brought back. It wasn’t a large jar but it was filled to the brim with coins that my father picked up off the ground. He said when the soldiers ran, loose coins would fall out of their pockets and, as a result, the ground was littered with coins. I remember seeing that jar of coins on his bedroom dresser for many years. I asked him about it once and he told me that the coins were a reminder of the men he ran beside in the Vietnam jungle. They weren’t just coins, they represented the brave men and women who served with him in Vietnam, many of whom never returned to their loved ones.

After my dad retired from the military he spent another 20 years working at Ford Motor Company as a security guard. I find it somewhat ironic. In the military he was part of an elite, highly trained special force regiment with top secret assignments and after he retired, he was a security guard. I wonder if the people at Ford realized what a talented and highly skilled special force officer they had keeping the perimeter of the plant safe. More importantly though, he seemed happy with the stress free, suburban life.

It is amazing to think about the changes my father saw in his lifetime. He was the strongest, most respected man I have ever known. When I think back over my life, there is not one friend of mine or my siblings who did not think my Dad was a great man, a solid role model with the highest values and ethics. At his funeral I heard stories about how he helped more than one friend out of a tough spot.

My family lost a great man; the world lost a great man. I am proud to be the daughter of this man. A true American hero

I miss you Dad.

Love,

Me