A thunderstorm in the middle of the night awoke Mr. Liam Bonnet screaming, “They are coming, they are coming, run for cover.”
Reaching for his cane on the side of the bed he slowly crawled under it.
With great patience, his loving wife got up to comfort him, trying to get Mr. Bonnet to return to bed.
Grabbing her ankle, he whispered, “Private come down here. It’s safer here.”
“What’s coming, Liam?”
“The fighter jets, the bombers, don’t you hear them?”
“It’s only a storm dear, give me your hand and come out, please.”
“For you, it’s a storm. For me it’s a war. If you don’t remember, Private, then you must be dead.”
“OK, Sergeant,” said his wife. “Make some room for me, I’m coming in.”
Mrs. Bonnet slid herself under the bed beside him pretending to be Private Matis Legrand.
“Where’s your rifle? How are you supposedly going to kill the enemy, Private?”
“I left it in my bunker, Sir.”
“Your rifle is your life; it goes where you go. You go to take a piss the rifle comes with you; you never know when you’ll get surprised.”
“Yes, Sir!” Responded Legrand to her higher-ranked commander.
The storm went on for hours. The two were quietly on a stand still looking for the enemy on the beaches of Normandy.
“Legrand, do you see any Germans yet?”
“No, Sergeant, they are just dropping bombs like crazy.”
Mr. Liam Bonnet was a front-line Sergeant of an all-terrain tank combat unit. He had served his country with pride in the Second World War. The photos in the family room with Sergeant Bonnet embellished with medals and stripes, tell the story.
As the thunderstorm subsides the two soldiers come out from their pretend foxhole.
The whistle of the teakettle startled the Sergeant. He began to shoot with his cane in hand, running for cover behind the sofa, pointing his rifle with precision and shooting in every direction.
“I got you, dirty German, get out of my country.”
As his wife passed by, he shoots her multiple times remaining hidden and rolling behind the sofa, not wanting the enemy to see him.
“Liam, would you like some tea dear?”
Whispering, he replied, “Shhhhh, no one is here.”
Suddenly the phone rang.
“Hello Mom. How’s father today?”
“Not a good day dear, we played war again.”
“Mom, you do know that PTSD is a major mental stress disorder.”
“Yes, and your Dad witnessed and experienced a traumatic event on D-Day when more than 425,000 allied and German troops were killed, wounded or went missing.”
“You are a patient and loving woman. Would you like me to stop by?”
“Yes, Roger. Since the sun is out it would be nice if all three of us could go for a drive.”
During the drive, the Sergeant was sound asleep and the sunshine penetrating the car window cuddled Mr. Bonnet like a warm blanket.
They got out of the car and walked the sandy, peaceful beach of Normandy. The same place that once was covered with dead bodies and body parts with the blood of enemies and friends colouring the crystal blue water bright red everywhere.
The Sergeant hugged his wife and son and declared, “I remember, I remember it all. It happened right here.”
The three stood still admiring the foamy waves rolling and playing with each other.
As tears streamed down Roger’s face, he whispered, “Yes father, here is where we lost you.”
