Baltimore writer Caryn Coyle says goodbye to her war hero father, but finds he’s at her side in striking ways. When my father died, I was holding his hand. I could feel the Marine Corps ring that he always wore on the third finger of his right hand. The ring has a large ruby, set in gold with globes of the world etched on both sides. Two eagles — wings spread — are perched on each globe. Because the ring is worn, stars that circle the eagles and globes have almost disappeared. I wear the ring on the middle finger of my right hand, now. My father’s last breath came a little after three o’clock on a late summer afternoon. I remember howling after he was gone. Inconsolable. I laid my head on his chest and cried and cried. Thunder sounded. It poured. I stepped outside, standing on the brick patio of the… Read More
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