Almost Forever Capa dura - 2003

CHRISTMAS 1967

We were all together
decorating
the Christmas tree
the day the orders came
for Daddy,
Special Delivery.

Daddy opened
the envelope
slowly,
unfolded the letter,
and said only one word:
Vietnam.

Mama sat down
right there
on the floor,
right there
in front of the tree.
I leave in February,
Daddy said.

It was 1967.
And we never finished
decorating
the Christmas tree.

DOCTORS DON'T FIGHT

Daddy needed
to explain
to my brother
and me
what doctors do
when they go
to war:
Doctors don’t fight.
We take care of
the people
who get hurt
in the fighting.

"Doctors get hurt, too,"
Mama
needed
to say.
"Bullets and bombs
do not care
that you went
to medical school."



ONE YEAR (NOT SUCH A LONG TIME)

The four of us
gathered
with other families,
we all gathered
in a building
on the Army base,
all in a special room
set aside
for saying goodbye.

One year
is not
such a long time,
Daddy said,
kneeling on one knee
in front of me,
squeezing
my shoulders.

In one year, Baby,
you’ll be in
second grade,
not first,
and you’ll be
seven years old,
not six,
and then
I’ll be home.
One year
is not
such a long time.

I did not
tell Daddy
that he was wrong —
that second grade
was half a hallway
and a whole world
away from first,
that seven
was everything
six was not,
and that one year
was forever.

Maria Testa has written several children's books, including the middle-grade novel BECOMING JOE DIMAGGIO. A lifelong New Englander, Maria Testa grew up in Rhode Island, graduated from Brown University and Yale Law School, and now lives in Maine. About ALMOST FOREVER, she says, "It is a tribute to the children of Vietnam veterans and to those who did not come home from the war. It is my hope that we can always remember ourselves as children, so as not to forget the new generation of young people still waiting for the end of forever."