8 | What My Father Left Behind
I stayed with Harold for the rest of the afternoon.
We didn't talk much.
He held the flag, and I held the dog's leash, and the three of us sat in that little room like we had known each other for years.
When the light started to fade, I finally asked him the question I had been carrying since the day before.
"What do you want me to do with all this?"
Harold looked at me for a long time.
"I don't want anything," he said.
"I've had my whole life to want things.
I'm done wanting."
"That's not an answer," I said.
He smiled.
"No," he said.
"I suppose it's not."
He reached down and scratched Rex behind the ears.
"You should take the dog," he said.
"He's yours now.
Your father would have wanted that."
I looked at Rex.
He looked back at me with those dark, steady eyes, and I knew Harold was right.
"I will," I said.
"And the collar?" he asked.
I pulled it out of my pocket.
The worn leather, the tag that read "Rex—Property of M.
Dregeany."
"I'm going to donate it," I said.
"To the veterans' home museum.
So people can see what my father did."
Harold nodded slowly.
"That's good," he said.
"That's real good."
I hesitated.
"There's one more thing," I said.
"I made some calls this morning.
To the Army.
To a few people I know."
Harold's eyes narrowed.
"What kind of calls?"
"The kind that get a man a formal apology," I said.
"For what happened in that kennel.
It's not a discharge upgrade.
It's not a medal.
But it's a record.
It's the truth, in writing, from the people who owe it to you."
Harold's face went still.
"You didn't have to do that," he said.
"Yes, I did," I said.
"My father would have done it himself if he were here."
Harold looked down at the flag in his lap, and his shoulders started to shake.
I didn't say anything.
I just sat there and let him cry.
Rex stood up and walked over to him and put his head in Harold's lap.
Harold put his hand on the dog's head and held on.
After a while, he wiped his eyes and looked at me.
"You're a lot like him," he said.
"Your father.
You don't let things go."
"I learned from the best," I said.
We sat there until the nurse came in to say it was time for dinner.
I stood up and clipped the leash onto Rex's collar.
"I'll be back tomorrow," I said.
"And the day after that.
And the day after that."
Harold nodded.
"I'll be here," he said.
The next week, the Army sent a representative to the veterans' home.
Harold got his apology in a small ceremony in the dining hall, with the flag on the table beside him and Rex at his feet.
I stood in the back and watched.
When it was over, Harold wheeled himself over to me.
"I don't know how to thank you," he said.
"You don't have to," I said.
"My father taught me that honor isn't about never falling.
It's about who you choose to lift up."
Harold nodded, and his eyes were wet again, but he was smiling.
Rex sat between us, looking up at both of us like he was waiting for a command.
I reached down and petted him.
"Come on, boy," I said.
May you like
"Let's go home."
And as we walked out of that building together, I knew my father was somewhere, smiling.
