Memorial Day

"It's okay, Mommy. I'll take care of you." 

Those words, spoken by my father before his third birthday, were prompted by the men in wool coats standing on the steps. No photos capture the pain of that moment, but the story, repeated through the years, highlights the impression the experience made on a very young boy. 

Photo credit, open-source online. No copyright infringement intended. 

Each year, as Memorial Day approaches, I think of my grandmother and what it must have been like for her that dark November day. I never really considered as a child (though Memorial Day is connected in my mind with vague memories of visits to flag-strewn cemeteries, 21-gun salutes, and "Taps" playing softly), my family was directly connected to American history. But we are. My grandmother was a war widow, left to raise a son on her own. It was difficult, I'm sure, though the photos from that time show a beautiful, smiling woman with a darling little boy in knee pants.

When I think of Memorial Day, I generally think of more recent losses, captured in dramatic images of deep grief and somber moments. Though my connection to Memorial Day is distant, through the death of a man I never knew, it drives home the cost of freedom. How many families have connections like mine, generations past but with an enduring legacy? How many families have a flag, presented with the following words, sitting somewhere? 

 On behalf of the President of the United

States, [the United States Army, the United

States Marine Corps, the United States Navy

or the United States Air Force] and a grateful

nation, please accept this flag as a symbol

of our appreciation for your loved one’s

honorable and faithful service.

(taken from the Flag Presentation Protocol Brochure)

How many homes are marked by the loss of those who gave their last full measure of devotion? More than 1.2 million. That number increases as time passes. My grandmother and father represent just one household, but that loss is now affecting a third generation as my children carry the legacy of our family's sacrifice. 

Amidst the BBQs and laughter, relaxed schedule and slower moments, it can be easy to forget the high price paid. Except by the families of those who paid it, even generations later. My father doesn't forget; Memorial Day is a quieter day for him. As I've come to understand and appreciate the realities of the sacrifices necessary to make this day possible, my day is quieter, too. The loss is somehow more personal for me now than it was as a child, and it prompts a question... Are we, as a nation, truly grateful? 

As we struggle with what it means to be Americans, the brokenness of our checkered history and our confusing present, that wrestling must never be allowed to diminish or discredit the sacrifices that we remember on this day. Too many have paid too much.