My Dad was born in Brooklyn, N.Y. on July l3, l9l9 to Irish Immigrants, John & Delia Sheridan. He was the fourth of seven children, which included two sisters and four brothers. Growing up in Brooklyn, he attended the same school as my Mom, Epiphany Catholic Grammar School. Throughout the school years and beyond, their friendship flourished, with the extra help of his sister, Isabella, my mom's best friend. When they grew older, they began to date. My mom's parents loved him. I was told he had a winning personality and found it easy to tell funny stories with flair and a dry sense of humor. He made my maternal grandmother believe him, only to find out it was really a joke. He got her every time. He worked for a time in the local Domino Sugar Plant and also joined the Civilian Conservation Corp. under FDR's administration, in early adulthood, before enlisting with the Army sometime in l942. His Infantry was sent to Camps in Hyder, Arizona and Ft. Jackson, S.C. On Nov. 21, l943, while on leave, he came home to marry his sweetheart, Elizabeth Hart, my Mom. They were married at their local church. My mom's mother was concerned, since the war was severe and times were uncertain. Mom's Dad gave his approval and blessing on their plans.

On his last leave home sometime in early l944, Mom was disheartened to see his combat boots with his duffel bag, a sign he was about to be shipped overseas to the Pacific. It turned out to be true. Almost to the day of their first wedding anniversary, I was born on Nov. 20, l944, while fighting was intense. He had written many letters to Mom after being sent overseas and one very special letter to me, around March l945, when I was 4 months old. I cherish that letter to this day. Photos of me were sent to Dad only to be returned due to his death in action on May 5, l945, in Okinawa. He was killed after returning from a long combat mission. He decided to rest in his foxhole, only to set off the explosion that was planted by the enemy. I am told by accounts of relatives that he died with a smile on his face. His death was instant (and hopefully painless) as he sustained massive internal bleeding. After a temporary burial in Okinawa, he was permanently buried in "Punchbowl" Cemetery in Hawaii.

He never got to see me, his firstborn and only child. Mom suffered a severe loss when the news reached her, so much so that the shock caused a comatose state for several weeks. With guidance and counseling from the parish priests and the love and support of her family (with whom we lived at the time) we moved on.

In time, she remarried and I had the joy of a baby brother, my half brother, Richard. He is 5 yrs younger and our families are close.

I often wondered, all through life, what could have been if Dad had come home. I always wanted to hear his voice, touch his hand and look into his eyes. Also, I know from his letter, there would be so many places to see together and that I should grow up to be a great lady. Well, I've seen many places and I've tried to do the best with my education. Marriage has already been 43 years and two children, Anthony & Jeanne Marie. We have been blessed with two grandsons, Nicholas and James Pulice.

You've missed so much, Dad, but your sacrifice gave us so much to look forward to. I thank you for being my "Hero," giving me life and for the spirit that looks after me all these years. I thank AWON for making this tribute possible.

Your loving and grateful daughter,