SEARCHING (fiction)

I trudged across the field toward the row of white crosses that marked the cemetery. Somewhere among that row of crosses was the earthly resting place of a man that I barely remembered but who touched my life in ways that he could never have known. Somewhere in that French countryside, among that field of stones were the earthly remains of the father that I barely remember. He had died in World War II, the war that brought the world to a standstill and produced the fields of crosses that marked the final resting place of brave men like my father that paid the ultimate price for freedom. I was barely five years old when my father enlisted in the cause