Warrior, if you get one of these POSTHUMOUSLY

Your Mother will get one of these

PERMANENTLY!

 

This page is dedicated to America's

GOLD STAR MOTHERS

God bless you, dear ladies, everyone...


In loving memory of my mother, Leita Elizabeth Griffin




IN HONOR OF AMERICA'S MOTHERS


YOU ARE OUR HEROES!



Sorrow for the death of a father lasts six months;
Sorrow for a mother, a year;
Sorrow for a wife, until another wife;
Sorrow for a son, forever.
Source: (Sanskrit)

All at peace now, together. Grif

My Mother, Leita Elizabeth Griffin, enjoying the company of three of her beautiful great-grandchildren, in 1985. Kids pictured are, left to right are, Hallie, Andy and Mike LaRock. God blessed her greatly, she loved all of her forty three great-grandchildren very much.

HIGH PRIORITY
~ HELP HONOR AMERICA'S GOLD STAR MOTHERS! ~
I would appreciate it if you and those on your mailing list would contact their Senator and Congressperson to co-sponsor Bill HR 4197: The establisment of a Gold Star Mothers National Monument in Washington D.C. Just click the highlighted address below:
http://www.opencongress.org/bill/111-hr4197/show
and you will be able to declare your support and also write your Representatives. Thank you, Grif. P.S. I have asked my Congresswoman, Virginia Foxx and my Senator, Richard Burr (North Carolina) to co-sponsor this legislation. Please, please, ask yours today!

A MOTHER'S APRON STRINGS
A poem by Peter S. Griffin
From Thoughts, Memories and Tears

The bond between a Mother and her son,
Is a love that can never be undone...
It starts before infancy, lasts infinitely,
Endures all hardships, a lasting partnership...

To see him grow each step of the way,
Knowing he'll be a fine man, someday...
To comfort him when he's ill,
To bandage the scrapes from his spills...

To wipe away his tears,
Your apron strings will guide him, through the years...
To watch his excitement at discovery,
To love and nurse him, through recovery...

To see his face, break into a smile,
To watch him grow, through every mile...
His first kiss makes him tingle,
His relationships grow, as he mingles...

Puppy loves cause broken hearts,
It's so hard, when young love parts...
To see his knowledge leap and grow,
To right small wrongs, he does sow...

To see him graduate and become a man,
To become a patriot, to protect our land...
To go off to fight, for what is right,
To pray for him, those days and nights...


Corporal John T. Griffin
Company G, 2/187th ARCT
Killed-in-action 25 March 1951

To receive the word, that he's been killed,
In a faraway land, his blood been spilled...
He gave his life for God and man,
You can't accept the loss, it's not your plan..!

They give to you, a Mother's Gold Star,
Can your apron strings reach that far..?
Your heart is broken beyond repair,
If only you could hold him, oh so near...

Precious memories are all that’s left,
Faded photographs, child’s toys, that you kept...
Cherished letters, you saved from him,
To love life without him, where to begin..?

Draped over that old kitchen chair,
Your apron, the strings, that held him near...
Put it around you, tie it tight,
His loving arms, will comfort your plight...

Now, Mothers gone, with apron white,
To that star, that shines so bright...
To us, she leaves, a gift so right,
A MOTHER'S APRON STRINGS,
To guide us through, our darkest nights...

In loving memory of my Gold Star Mother, Leita Elizabeth Griffin. Dedicated to all of America's Gold Star Mothers, God bless you for the supreme sacrifice and heartbreak you endured for our great country.

VISIT THE GOLD STAR MOTHERS NATIONAL MONUMENT WEBSITE
CLICK HERE!

FOR MOTHERS AND PARATROOPERS

Thinking back, across the years,
Many remembrances bring forth the tears...
My earliest recollection of those days gone by,
Just a little boy, Mother, drying tears from my eyes...

Standing by a flag draped coffin,
Bewildered by what was in the offing...
Two uniformed soldiers stood at attention,
A priest offering words of comfort and affection...

Family and friends paying their last respects,
As my parents gasped for breath...
In that closed coffin lay their first born,
My paratrooper brother, who I so adored...

I was just a lad of four,
From my eyes, the tears just poured...
For you see, he was a hero to me,
Now he was gone, replaced, by unwanted sympathy...

I remember, looking, way up at him,
How he'd smile and flash that grin...
He'd pick me up, set me on his knee,
Showing the love, he had for me....

He'd tell me stories, that were so brave,
Jumping from airplanes, he wasn't afraid...
Told me, when I was bigger, I could do it too,
Wouldn't be long, I could serve the Red, White and Blue...

Said he had to go to Korea, to fight in a war,
Flipped me a half dollar, for candy at the store...
"Don't worry, Pete, I'll be alright,
It's my job, I'm trained to fight"...

There was no doubt, he'd be just fine,
How his jump boots, cast that shine...
That glider patch sewed to his hat,
That Infantry braid, around his shoulder, fast...

Those silver wings upon his chest,
They only gave those, to the very best...
That blue scarf, just for guys real tough,
That "AIRBORNE" patch, the finishing touch...

Had no doubt, that he'd be fine,
Had no idea, we had so little time...
After he left, my Mom would cry,
Didn't understand that last, goodbye...

Now, standing there, feeling so sad and alone,
What was this coffin doing in my home...
I don't believe it, he can't be dead,
This is not the way, it was supposed to end...

Everybodys leaving, getting in their cars,
Not saying "goodbye", they can't go far...
Soon we end up at the church,
The priest says the eulogy, from his perch...

They say nice things, that I don't want to hear,
I look around around, feel a growing fear...
Soon it's time, we leave again,
Will this nightmare, ever end..?

As we travel, I look back,
See the hearse, big, sleek and black...
As we enter the cemetery gate,
Wishing something, could change our fate...

As they lowered him into the ground,
I looked around, my heart did pound...
Everybody, everybody, was in tears,
My Mother, holding that flag, oh so near...

"Don't cry Mother, it will be alright",
Not knowing if it would end her plight...
Didn't realize at that tender age,
There was no coming back, from the grave...

When I got older, I also went to war,
Fought many battles on distant shores...
Lost many, many friends, oh so dear,
Thinking back across the years...

How many folded flags, must Mothers hold,
For gallant paratroopers, so young and bold...
It is time for all, to catch our breath,
FOR MOTHERS AND PARATROOPERS, lets bow our heads, and reflect...

Veterans Day 1998

By: Peter S. Griffin
Co. A, 2/502nd Infantry
101st Airborne Division
Viet Nam, 1965-66

EIGHTEEN IN THE MORROW

A poem by Peter S. Griffin

A mother writes, her cherished son,
Away in Korea, a war to be won....
Keeping the home fires, warm and burning,
In her heart, her oldest baby, she is yearning....

Little brother, peeks in the door,
He sees the worry, she does store....
Too young to know, the horrors of war,
But upset, about the tears that poured....

"Tell him, I'll be, EIGHTEEN IN THE MORROW,"
Old enough, to end her sorrow...?
A startled look, upon her face,
She prays to God, for saving grace....

"Inclosing a medal and a prayer,
To keep you safe, while you are there....
I'll write you faithfully, everyday,
I'll pray for you, while your away....

Wear the medal, while we're apart,
Wear it just, above your heart....
Our loving God, will keep you safe,
Till your home, to resume your place"....

It is March 7th, of fifty one,
Been a year, since the war begun....
Winter winds, the snows are blowing,
A sad premonition, she is knowing....

She harbours the fear, death, so near,
Oh, so hard, to hide the tears....
"Tell him, Mom, I'll soon be there,"
As he climbs up on her chair....

Little brother, holds her near,
Too small to comfort, her growing fears....
"Don't worry, Mother, I'll keep him safe,"
To ease the worry, on her face....

"I'll be, EIGHTEEN IN THE MORROW,"
Forget the years, that he'll borrow....
In her heart, a glimmer shines,
Innocence is so sublime....

"Don't worry, Jack, help is coming,
Pete's joining the paratroops, in the morning...!"
Says, he'll help fight, that old war,
"We dare not tell him, he's just four...!"

Corporal John T. Griffin never recieved the letter, it was returned marked, "DECEASED." He was killed in action, 25 March 51, with Co. G, 2/187th ARCT, at Parun-ni, South Korea.


(Peter - age 4)

Peter was EIGHTEEN IN THE MORROW, like so many other young men, fighting the war in South Vietnam.

Memorial by Jules of JULES PATRIOTIC PAGES, God bless you, dear friend!

Leita Lacey Griffin, her dog, Rover, and cousin, Donald Chatterson

(circa 1910)

She was very "PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN" and passed this noble trait on to the rest of her family.

Thank you Jules!

You can now order "When You Hear The Bugle Call" from Amazon.com by clicking the cover.

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