Hippy Harry

After my parents got divorced and before my mother became wheelchair bound she only had two boyfriends through the years. Both were soldiers and Vietnam vets and both were profoundly affected by the war, as my own father was. One, was named Don, who had half his arm blown off and had cases upon cases of guns, ammo and even a military amphibious vehicle hidden underneath tarps, behind a storage shed at his house. Then there was Harry. Harry would take us camping and to nice dinners out. But once he got out of the service, he found it hard to stay put. We could always tell when he was about to leave, because a melancholy-like lull would saddle itself upon his shoulders. But it was always a good day when Harry would wander back our way. He had a great laugh and I could plainly see that he thought my mother was delightful, as she did him. They dated for a couple of years and even at one point when my mother was hospitalized for almost a whole year, he moved in upon her request, to keep an eye on me. I would always ask him, "Harry, why don't you stay put and marry my mom?" He would always smile and say, "Girl, no woman ever wants to marry an old broken down wandering hippy like myself." He finally vanished for good when my mother made it home from the hospital. They both knew she was a lost cause. He drove away in his truck, tears in his eyes. And for some reason, that I still can't fathom to this day, I never told my mother that I saw him cry.