Like most younger Americans, I have lived a very easy life. I have never experienced great hardship, nor have I witnessed wide spread suffering. As a generation, we don't know what it means to sacrifice or want; as a result, life in America can be difficult to appreciate. But more people would understand if they knew the story of Albert Kath.

I met Albert Kath by chance. I was working as a reporter in Madison, Wisconsin, and was introduced to him by a mutual friend. Kath, like many GIs, had never seen the WWII memorial. But thanks to a man named Mark Finnegan, who pioneered a nonprofit called VetsRoll, Kath finally got the chance to travel to the nation's capital. I was honored to have been invited to document the trip.

Kath was a decorated WWII veteran who had recently lost his wife of 66 years. Visiting this memorial was his final goal. That alone makes for an amazing story. It wasn't until I sat down with him that I realized how amazing it truly was.

“The Battle of the Bulge started at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning. And all hell broke loose,” recalled Kath, about the day that not only changed his life, but the world. It was December 16, 1944 in the frigid mountains of Belgium. By the time night would fall on the largest land battle in American history, the 20-year-old would be a prisoner of war.

“The next morning we were loaded into boxcars. For six days we didn't have anything to eat or drink.” By threat of death, Kath and his fellow POWs were then forced to march through snow and sub freezing temperatures to a prison camp. After trying to escape, a German soldier fractured Kath's back with the butt of a rifle. He would walk in pain for the rest of his life.

Kath remained a POW until the end of the war. Nearly seven decades later, the memories had hardly faded. “We seen political prisoners marching in the opposite way to the crematories. And you didn't have nothing to eat. You'd get grass soup, or some type of beet soup. You might get a worm or something in that to get some protein to carry you through.”

When the Russians finally liberated the camp, Kath was 50 pounds lighter. Upon his return to the states, he was awarded a vest-full of medals – medals he didn't feel were deserved. “They say, 'Oh, you're a hero'. I'm not a hero. I'm here. They're over there.”

For the next 65 years, Kath symbolized the American Dream. With his wife by his side, he rose through the ranks of the UAW to become a manager. Together they raised three children. Later they welcomed six grandchildren and then six great grandchildren.

About 10 years ago, Kath's wife fell ill. Despite his desire to see the WWII memorial, he refused to leave her side. “It's my duty to take care of her before I go anyplace. I was always there for her and she was always there for me.”

By the time she died, his own health had greatly deteriorated. Thankfully, within months, he found himself on a bus in the nation's capital, myself included. As we approached the memorial, he only spoke of his wife and how proud of him she would have been. As he shuffled up to the memorial built in his honor, he stood a little taller. When he reached the first marble pillar, he broke down and cried. His life was now complete.

Albert Kath's son recently called me to say his father had passed away. My heart sank. I had only known him for about a year. But I was lucky enough to call him a friend.

As I think about all that Kath and his generation accomplished, I can only hope we younger Americans are prepared to carry this nation's torch. But in order to do so, we must first know what lit that torch and what has kept it burning.

Chris Papst is a two-time Emmy award winning reporter for CBS-21 News.