I went to the cemetery early in the morning on Memorial Day. I was alone — or so I thought.
Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation's service.
The sun was already warm and the air heavy as I wandered through the headstones. The birds sang to me and the breeze softly moved the flags lovingly placed on the graves of our veterans. My mind was picturing them as young men, their brides, children and parents. Each flag with a headstone, I began reading the names and quietly acknowledging their sacrifices. I thought of my beloved father, a fortunate soldier who returned home after World War II. Had he not come home, I would not be here.
I made my way through the small cemetery, full of history and heartache, and suddenly realized I was speaking out loud. Something compelled me to continue my path through the grass. The tears were dripping off my chin as I thanked these brave souls for their actions. My three children were the same age as many of these veterans at the time of their deaths. I cannot imagine the pain of losing one of them. Tears have always been close to the surface for me whenever our veterans are mentioned. A child of the sixties, I lost friends and a brother-in-law to the Vietnam War. My nephews have served in Iraq. My father spent many hours volunteering at the VA hospital near our hometown. He met my stepmother there as she volunteered.
At the conclusion of my father’s
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memorial service 10 years ago, a uniformed veteran presented us the American flag which was to have draped his casket. My tears got the best of me.
“On behalf of President Bush and a grateful nation,” the officer said as he handed my stepmother the perfectly folded flag. ‘A grateful nation,’ the words slapped me in the face.
How grateful was I? And just how did I show my appreciation?
I am ashamed to say.
I purposed to do better in honor of my father, all those who had fought for us, but especially for those who had died in service to my country.
These memories were again with me this Memorial Day morning as I sat in solitude at Glenwood Cemetery.
While I might have been the only breathing soul there, I was not alone.