Memorial Day

I am not sure if my patriotic streak was sharpened by becoming a wife of an active duty military person or if it was always there. I know it was fostered by Girl Scouts and the occasional chance to raise the flag at Grandpa Lewis' house. My grade school class recited the pledge everyday. I do know that I have never really been able to hear (or while a musician play) the national anthem or Stars and Stripes without getting a huge lump in my throat.


Several years ago I went to Hawaii and visited the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. My Dad had told me that a relative of mine (his cousin Paul) was buried there. S and I visited and laid flowers at his grave. It struck me that so many fallen heroes live in graves far away from home. How many have ever been visited by their families? One of the statues bears the following quote: "The solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom."

According to Wikapedia the origin of the quote is as follows-

In 1864, Massachusetts Governor John A. Andrew wrote to President Lincoln concerning one Mrs. Lydia Bixby, a widow who was believed to have lost five sons during the Civil War. Lincoln's letter to her was printed by the Boston Evening Transcript.

The following is the text of the letter:

“

Executive Mansion, Washington, Nov. 21, 1864. Dear Madam, I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. Yours, very sincerely and respectfully, A. Lincoln

S has been in the military long enough that he and I have had the privilege of knowing some of those heroes. One of the newspapers we get on base lists the names and photos of those who have died or are missing each month. Memorial Day is no longer about those long dead. It is about our friends and neighbors. About our relatives and about ourselves. It is our time to pause in silence and say thank you, you will never be forgotten. So I try hard to remember that my long weekend with family and BBQ has a purpose. To not forget. To hold those lives dear. To remember the price.



Yesterday C&R and I bought poppies from the local VFW guys. I tried to explain what the holiday is about. That sometimes the bad guys kill the good guys and they don't get to come home. So we have to remember what they did for us. She paused and said, "But what about my Daddy? Can that happen to him?" I choked a little and lied through my teeth. "No, Daddy doesn't go to those places." She is young enough to not have that reality in her life.

In Flanders’ Fields

In Flanders’ Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders’ Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders’ Fields.