The morning I arrived I wore my uniform and went alone to his grave.
The whole lot was covered with flowers, all of which were wilted save the sheath of red roses over the spot where he lay. These to me seemed fresh, vivified by the great soul of him who lay beneath them.
For an hour I stood there, and the knowledge came to me that the grave no more held Papa than does one of his discarded suits hanging in a closet.
Suddenly I seemed to see him in the road wearing his checked overcoat and with his stick, which he waved at me as he had been used to do when he was impatient and wanted to go somewhere.
I knelt and kissed the ground and saluted, not Papa, but the last resting place of that beautiful body I had loved. His soul was with me and, except for the density of my fleshly eyes, I could have seen and talked with him.
As I waited in his office where we smoked and talked so often he is here. I like to remember not the symbol of his gallant spirit which I saluted in the churchyard, but rather Papa, the last time I saw him alive wheeled out (in the hospital) to die perhaps, and to think of his words so true of our present temporary seperation when he smiled at me and said, Au revoir, son.
Oh darling Papa. I never called you that in life as both of us were too self-contained, but you were and are my darling. I have often thought that life for me was too easy, but the loss of you has gone far to even my count with those whom before I have pitied.
God grant that you see and appreciate my piteous attempt to show here your lovely life. I never did much for you and you did all for me. Accept this as a slight offering of what I would have done.
Your devoted son,
George S. Patton, Jr.
July 9, 1927
The whole lot was covered with flowers, all of which were wilted save the sheath of red roses over the spot where he lay. These to me seemed fresh, vivified by the great soul of him who lay beneath them.
For an hour I stood there, and the knowledge came to me that the grave no more held Papa than does one of his discarded suits hanging in a closet.
Suddenly I seemed to see him in the road wearing his checked overcoat and with his stick, which he waved at me as he had been used to do when he was impatient and wanted to go somewhere.
I knelt and kissed the ground and saluted, not Papa, but the last resting place of that beautiful body I had loved. His soul was with me and, except for the density of my fleshly eyes, I could have seen and talked with him.
As I waited in his office where we smoked and talked so often he is here. I like to remember not the symbol of his gallant spirit which I saluted in the churchyard, but rather Papa, the last time I saw him alive wheeled out (in the hospital) to die perhaps, and to think of his words so true of our present temporary seperation when he smiled at me and said, Au revoir, son.
Oh darling Papa. I never called you that in life as both of us were too self-contained, but you were and are my darling. I have often thought that life for me was too easy, but the loss of you has gone far to even my count with those whom before I have pitied.
God grant that you see and appreciate my piteous attempt to show here your lovely life. I never did much for you and you did all for me. Accept this as a slight offering of what I would have done.
Your devoted son,
George S. Patton, Jr.
July 9, 1927
