On December 5th of 1942, The Happy Legend was shot down over New Guinea and exploded when it hit the side of a mountain. All seven crewmen were reported missing in action, presumably killed. One of them was Second Lieutenant William N. Stocking—my grandfather. He left behind a new bride and a 5-week old baby that (many years later)I would come to know as “dad”.
Over the next 65 years, several attempts were made to locate the crash site and recover human remains. The crash site itself was located in the 1940s, but it was impossible to reach because it was deep in the jungle. In the 1960’s, the army was able to explore the crash site, but the discovery of an unexploded bomb prevented close investigation. The crater caused by the impact was also filled with water and needed to be pumped dry, an engineering feat that wasn’t possible until the 1990s.
Eventually, the bomb was removed safely, and the crater was pumped dry. Pieces of the plane were found along with bone fragments and a few personal items (including some photographs of my grandmother). However, it wasn’t for another 10 years that DNA testing could be used to identify any of the remains.
Two years ago, family members from all seven crew members were contacted, and positive identifications were made for all seven. The identifiable remains from each crewman were buried individually, and the remains that could not be positively identified were placed together in a single casket.
Last week, my family and I attended the official funeral at Arlington.
My dad and step-mom at the funeral with grandpa’s flag.
My family chose to have my grandfather buried beside the group casket, so it was a double-casket funeral: One for the group, and one for my grandfather’s individual remains. 67 years after his death, my grandfather was finally laid to rest.
My grandmother liked to talk to me about my grandfather. I knew that she loved him, and that his loss was one of the biggest unresolved hurts in her life. Even up until her death about 11 years ago, she still missed Bill.
As for me, I never really missed him, because I never really knew him. But I did miss the (almost certainly idealized) version that my grandmother presented to me. Since I never met my mother’s father either, I never really had a grandpa.
To me, grandpas have always represented conspirators. They slip you a piece of candy when nobody else (especially grandma) is looking. They teach you how to do dangerous things like whittle wood and drive tractors. They take you out of school to go fishing. In short, they take the heat when they get you both into trouble, and they teach you all the things that the other adults don’t want you to learn.
Even though I learned all that stuff anyway, I still always wanted a grandfather. It was never really a stinging loss, or even a noticeable emptiness. It’s not like there was this gaping hole in my heart where a grandpa would fit right in, it was just a faint sense of “wouldn’t it be nice to share this with someone” from time to time. Since I knew that Bill was a war hero, and especially since he flew in planes, I always wanted him. I always wanted him to sit down and tell me war stories, or to tell me about my grandmother when she was younger. I wanted to know him, and to be a part of his life.
When I found out that they had located his remains, and that there would finally be a funeral, it had an unexpected, deeply profound effect on me. I felt such an overwhelming sense of relief and happiness, both for his spirit and for my grandmother’s spirit. I felt like they were finally together after all that time apart, and could find peace in the afterlife. I never realized just how much I missed my grandpa until I attended his funeral.
All of my life, I have believed that it was impossible to miss someone you never knew. It wasn’t until last week that I realized that’s a lie. You can miss someone you never knew, because I have missed my grandpa all my life. I’m so glad that he has finally come home.
Love always,
Jay