Bernard Mohorn was one of a kind. My only great-grandfather and my best friend. The talks that we used to share, I can remember them as if he still told them today. One of the most memorable stories that he used to share was when he was in the Vietnam War. Everytime he would begin to reminisce on his past he would say, "you wanna hear somethin boy?" After I heard that, I knew that there was a story going to be told.
Whenever he told his stories, I would be able to see vivdly what he was saying. For instance, the still bodies that laid on the battle ground either dead, or badly wounded by their enemies, or even by their same army. I remember when he told me about seeing his best friend die right in front of his eyes. Barely being able to identify him from the dust mixed with sweat that almost covered all of his face, and the blood that took over half of his army uniform.
As he would revive the war from his past, I would always try to relate to the distinctive sounds he must have heard. I began to concentrate on the sounds of the bombs being fired, and everyone loading up their weapons for attack. The winds that whirled against the sounds of bullets being punctured into the chests, and heads of these soldiers. The frantic chaos that were yelled by both sides, and even the pounding of their feet on the battle ground as they charged at their opponent.
Oftentimes, my great- grandfather wasn't able to finish his stories about the war because of how many of them affected him. When it got to that point, I would try to comfort him by reminding him of how great he was for being able to fight for his country and be able to stand tall and say so. The feelings I felt inside when I was with him can never be described entirely, but will always be memorialized because I never anticipated the day he wouldn't be able to share another one of his stories with me again. Until this day, a piece of him remains in my mind, soul and spirit.
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