January, 1944
Blood. Lots of it.
She's hemorrhaging and fear grips her mind. The baby. Donny. Who will take care of them? Wayne, why dear God isn't he here? His company has been quarantined there are Fort Ord, ready to ship out any day. Will her children be orphaned?
She's at the hospital and family calls the Red Cross. They, in turn, speak with his military commander and although his company is prepped for departure, he alone is held back. They go on without him and he travels to her side instead of overseas. Present for the birth of his second child. She is beautiful. A daughter. Mamma is fine, bleeding controlled.
Soaking in every minute of their time together, knowing it won't last long, 10 days in fact. He holds her as she cradles little Mary in her arms, and Donny pulls on his pant leg. She must be strong. Don't beg him to not go. He's a proud man, a man willing to serve his country. Must. Be. Strong.
The courage she had to muster to say the words "goodbye" with a ten day old infant in her arms, the prayers uttered for his safety from the deepest part of her being, the determination to be strong for him. My grandmother was not alone in these.
A generation of courageous and strong woman were being built as their men headed off for war...
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