I knew my cousin the medic when I was a teenager. His American name was Lester, but his European name was Lazza.
The family called him Laz. He loved this country, and was determined to serve it as a medic. He was right on the front lines in the Second World War. He saved many of the wounded, and lost many that he was trying to save. He risked his own life over and over again! He received many awards for his valor.
When he came home he lived with his sister. Although he'd talk humbly of his work as a medic, little by little grief settled in. He knew that he couldn't save all of those that died from their wounds, but he wanted to. He was never the same again. We hear of many accounts of those who sacrificed for others, Laz was one of them.
Picture originally found here
