Delft

From Pegasus Bridge we travel towards Amsterdam to fly back to America. Dave and I stay the night in Delft, a Dutch city noted for its hand painted pottery. After a final night in Holland in which I departed with no foreign money leftover. We fly. What I remember most of our journey is what it was like for our Dad sixty years earlier. For him it was an unbelievable experience with momemts, sometimes days of horror, following the one question of a combat soldier-did I do right? For my Dad he was haunted by the thoughts that he caused the death of his commanding officer and the two deaths of the Dutch civilians that saved him. Now I finally realize why the way he was, and why I am the way I am.