Fallen soldier

 He lost a big part of himself to the bottle, and the anger he kept to himself until he couldn't. A once-proud man with many achievements is now just another drunk who never gets a second glance. I wonder if he remembers his past and those who shared it, or if he is a blank slate living in the moment with uncertain steps and no memories of yesterday.

It is a story that goes full circle from riches to rags, a tale of a man who lived large, never knowing or perhaps caring what tomorrow would bring, never planning to fail, yet failing to plan.

I visit him sometimes, but not often enough, as it breaks my heart to see him. His small apartment is dirty and neglected by his slumlord, who never responds to my inquiries about the forty-year-old carpet that poses a health hazard and the kitchen stove with only one working burner. I bought him a flat-screen TV that he parks himself in front of for hours on end, or until he has to make a liquor run to the corner store, thankfully not far from home, as he walks everywhere he goes.

I gave up trying to get him sober as it became a battle I could never win. So I sit with him among the cigarette smoke and balls of dust on every hanging picture. I make him his favorite lunch, a liverwurst sandwich with a dill pickle that he promised he'd eat in a little while. However, I often returned days later to find it untouched, now overrun by flies.

To this day, I wish there was more I could do, but he was determined to kill himself with the bottle, and on a cold day in November, I found him in his stained recliner, the TV on, and six empty bottles scattered on the floor. I sat with him for a while before calling the coroner, looking at his wrinkled face that had weathered many storms and battles, now resting peacefully somewhere he was meant to be. He was buried a hero, having earned many medals and awards as a proud soldier. I pass by that old run-down apartment when I'm in town, sitting in my car, remembering him and the fight he couldn't win, and I silently whisper to myself, don't let it be me.

Mike 2025