Walther

His childhood was wrecked by his father, a hard drinking mason of German decent, who died before Walther was born and left nothing but debt and despair.
As Walther grew up, he worked, smoked and loved. At twenty, he married a girl. Fathered a child, went into a war, returned with a limp and a star.
The drinking came later. Little at first, then more, then too much.
His wife tried to reason. Always in vain.
Grandparenthood filled him with pride. That’s when the coughing set in.
“It’s nothing,” he said, at first anyway.
Soon he said nothing at all.