A Case for Tomorrow
December 7, 1941. Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. The country went to war and set off a chain of events that reached all the way down to touch a young woman in Ohio and a young man in Texas. They both eventually joined the Navy. She as a nurse, he as a corpsman. They came together at a hospital in Corpus Christi. They dated. They married. They had a boy. Me. They’re gone now, but I’m here. With three children of my own and four grandchildren.
We’re the fruit of a bitter conflict, but fruit nonetheless. From a day marked by death, life eventually found a way. My parents came together in service of the war and marked the occasion by bringing forth new life, as did a generation of warriors. They fought. They won. They celebrated by having children. I was only one of many. It’s safe to say babies rained down on the country like confetti during a parade. The Baby Boom.
It's also safe to say a dark day is often followed by the light. And the depth of despair is only possible by having known the heights of joy. The trick, I suppose, is figuring out how to navigate the dark to find the light again. I think faith plays a large role. You have to believe. In love. In tomorrow. In healing. You have to believe the pain will end and joy will come again. You have to believe life will go on and it’s worth fighting for and making the effort. That’s what my parents did more than 80 years ago, and it’s what I’m doing now. Living.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale