Having nearly reached the end of his tale, gripping his St. Christopher medal in white knuckles, the soldier begins to cry.
"I left. His legs blown right out from under him, but these docs do wonders; he could have lived. Damn my orders to retreat, I should have gone back for him." Outright weeping, he turns.
Father Mulcahy watches, taking a deep breath, and quietly breaks through the sobs. "Do you remember the prayer of St. Francis?"
A puzzled look. "Lord, give me strength to accept the things I cannot change?"
A knowing stare and the point is driven home.