How often we forget that Memorial Day is more than just a day off, a means to a three day weekend or the beginning of grilling season. In truth, it was established specifically to honor the fallen men (and later, women) of the militia.
It saddens me to admit that I, myself, have been guilty of treating Memorial Day like a pseudo-holiday. There are no presents to buy, no cards, and many companies don't even offer it as a day off. This is especially sad because so many families have, in one way or another, felt a loss associated with military service.
My grandfather was in the military (101st Airborne - Screaming Eagles). He jumped at Normandy on D-Day (June 6, 1944) and again into Holland in September. He was captured in October and remained a POW until he was liberated in May 1945. Though he was not killed in action and lived a full life until November 1998, he gave much of himself overseas. Forced to march in the snow for nearly three months, his feet were badly frozen and he suffered the rest of his life from the damage it caused. He came home, met and married my grandmother and lived a normal, almost boring life (certainly by comparison).
I am ashamed sometimes that I didn't pay more attention to the stories. I remember some horrible parts but I was a child and by the time I was old enough to appreciate the service and sacrifice that he made as a young man, he could barely remember me, much less regale me with war stories.
I had no specific plans for this Memorial Day. I was sitting around the house watching TV and I heard what sounded like a helicopter landing on my darn trailer. I looked out to see what was happening and saw a military chopper going over so close that I literally could have hit it with a rock. It landed in the cemetary behind me and I realized that there is always a ceremony of sorts at this cemetary, which happens to be full of veterans, on these kinds of holidays. I was curious and so I ventured out in direct sunlight for the first time that day.
I walked to the end of the yard and cars were lined as far as I could see in both directions and a couple of guys in 'golf' carts were shuttling people from their cars to the cemetary. I decided a closer look was warranted and started off. One of the golf carts was passing and the kid on it slowed and said to me, "You're welcome to attend." I nodded and he went on.
I must admit I didn't have any real expectations and yet as I rounded the bend and passed the end of the treeline, I was a bit surprised at the sight. A huge tent was in the grass and mud (it rained for the last few days). Not a funeral tent but a big "tent sale" type tent. Surrounding the tent was maybe 40 or 50 American flags. The military chopper was off to one side and a Sheriff's Dept. helicopter off to another. Beneath the tent and spilling out was a crowd far larger than I expected for a rainy Memorial Day ceremony in a small cemetary on the outskirts of town.
It was uplifting in a way to see that many people there. Someone said the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag and then there was a twenty-one gun salute, one cannon burst and the haunting sound of Taps on the bugle. It gave me goosebumps; it made me sad; it made me proud and it made me thankful. It was an unexpected rush of emotions for a guy who claims to only know one emotion. It made me think of my grandfather and it led me to write this rambling blog.
___________________________________________
My grandfather died in November 1998 after suffering from Alzheimer's Disease for years. A couple of years later I wrote this:
Comments