The Forgotten Memories of The Blue Soldiers

The rain fell in a soft mist; his feet left soft imprints on the soil as he walked. LaPore gazed off into the distance where rows of grave stones stood as sentinels honoring those who rested beneath them. He was older now and his gait was slow but he walked erect head held high in pride as he continued through this quite place. His mind brought him back into his distant past, when the color blue was his life. When the wail of a siren made his blood gush through his veins and when the laughter and tears of his comrades mingled with his own. He had spent his youth and his strength combating the demons of the street, had married, raised a family, and had brought life into the world. As well as, dispatched several demons from this world in the line of duty yes I was a cop thought Lapore. It was a calling one that I loved and cherished. Oh, to go back, to be young and strong once more to serve his fellow man and community. His eyes were wet with moisture; was it from the rain or was it tears that left a lined trail on his cheeks. Memories stamped in his heart pushed him forward. He had come here to soldier’s field to pay his respects to an old comrade, to a brother cop that years ago had saved him from the jaws of death. The scene took place on a late night domestic only for him to have fallen some weeks later at the hands of a deranged killer. His travels though the field ended as he stood at the grave of Officer Henry Jenkins, killed in the line of duty on May 27th 1964. Reading the etched lettering on the grave stone, LaPore on his knees felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Now aged he had made it through life thanks to this good man who lay motionless beneath this plot of earth. He had lived to see wonderful things, had watched and assisted as his children grew into adulthood and had enjoyed the joy of grandchildren. LaPore had experienced a great marriage to a great lady and had made it to retirement. The world had revolved many times, since the death of Officer Jenkins, but LaPore never forgot the night these brothers in blue had forged a sacred bond. Standing erect now, LaPore whispered a private word of thanks and gratitude to the Memory of Jenkins. Hank LaPore began, I’ve let you down my brother, I’ve hit the skids, and alcohol is now my constant companion. I can’t face life without it. I’ve disappointed family, friends and mostly my kids. Hank you and I and many others who were the blue walked Hells byways, I could deal with that, but the loss of my wife Joey was too devastating. I no longer care, life is meaningless, maybe someday I’ll find myself, I don’t know, maybe somewhere, somehow, someone will give me the will to live again. Maybe you and so many others who have gone before me will nudge me into the road of life. As he prepared to leave his old comrade these words he had once heard somewhere in youth flashed in his mind. Saluting the grave, they rushed forth, This great evil, where does it come from? How’d it steal into this world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who is doing this? Who’s killing us? Robbing us of Life and Light Mocking us with the sight of what we might have known. Does our ruin benefit the earth? Does it help the grass to grow, the sun to shine. Turning his heart heavy with grief, he departed from this silent humble grave. Filled with despair, he wondered what future would now befall him. Whispering a silent goodbye, LaPore shuffled away, ashamed and broken; alone he strolled out of soldier’s field to face an unknown, unpromising future.