When I heard you were killed 100 days in—there came a strange new blue over me. Took awhile to get acquainted with it.
I know—I can hear you laughing, “Why you being sappy, Coop?”
No way i could tell you what you meant to me in high school, Frank. You were the first friend close to my age who reached manhood—you helped me see there was a tunnel. Looking at your photo today, you seem more like a kid than i remember. But hey, I’m now old enough to be your grandfather, how ’bout that?
Still, one thing doesn’t change, the thought of you gasping dust thousands of miles from home . . . comes that old familiar ache that won’t go away . . . never forget you . . . God bless, Frank.