A couple of days ago my mother called me that his brother had just died, at the age of 86. He belonged to the last age-class to be put to front. Although his war didn't last long, he was somewhere over there long enough to get wounded, at least once if not twice. He carried Russian shrapnel in his body for the rest of his life, causing constant discomfort, but despite all hardship he built a cottage for his family, raised two daughters and worked until state pension age. During his last years, especially after being widowed, he would have liked to move to the local veteran's fraternity home where he had occasionally been treated, but his invalidity percentage was a couple of units too low until his leg was amputated due to his weak heart which couldn't pump blood down there. Thus he literally had one foot in the grave...
My uncle was clear minded till the very end. He lived long enough to see his newborn great-grandson, posing for a photo with him.
He was no war hero, just a regular infantry soldier helping to keep his country independent. After the war he helped to rebuild his fatherland. He tried hard not to show his suffering. When still living in his home, he was very upset if he couldn't dress up, make his bed and make coffee before the nurses came to help him in daily routines. The same heartiness was significant also with children, he always tried to amuse the smallest ones with a warm twinkle in his eyes. I think that kind of heroes are the most respectable ones.
