Remembering the Dead

I meant to be posting more about my dead, but time has seemed to get away from me lately.  Today I want to make a short post about my great great uncle, Charles Comito.  I never met him, of course.  He died in 1944, when my own grandmother was a little girl.

In January of 1943, at the age of 22 or 23, Charles enlisted in the army as a Warrant Officer.  I’m not sure when he actually left for training or how long he was in the army.  A lot of this information is family hear-say from my grandmother.  Since she was a child at the time and her memory isn’t great now, it’s all kind of murky.  Anyway, the story is that he went to New York for training before deployment.  During that time, he died.  I’ve been told from family that it was either A) an allergic reaction to a vaccination or B) an untreated illness of some sort.

The reason I’m writing about him is because no matter how he died, he died at about 24 years old.  He wanted to fight for his country and he died doing that, even if it isn’t in the way most soldiers go.  He wrote poetry for his mother and sent it home to her while he was away.  It reveals someone who seemed kind, and sweet.  My great grandmother, his sister, used to write him a letter every single week.  He died in June but it took a while for my family to find out that he had passed away, so she kept writing to him over July and into August of ’44.  Her unopened letters where returned with his things.  I think another reason I’m drawn to give him mention and honors by name in ancestor work is because  I was able to read them once, and it was so clear how much she loved him.  The last letter she sent him, the final lines read something like “We haven’t heard from you in a while, and you know how Mom worries.  Please try to give us a call or a letter soon.  We miss you.  Love, Mary” and it absolutely broke my heart.  He has no descendants and no one else to remember him.

So here’s to you Charles Comito.

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