Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation's service. When watching the news about Afghanistan and Iraq and I hear about the fatality count for the day, I think of the son or daughter that was lost. The brother or the sister, the mother or the father. I think of how I would feel if that were my son, my brother, my sister. I can't even bear the thought. I don't know how I would live the reality.
Today I also think of my father. He was a WWII vet and because I am 49 years old, you can surmise that he did not lose his life in the line of service. Or did he? I believe a big piece of him died in the Pacific Theatre. He never spoke about the war or what he saw, but I do know that the Navy vet that returned was not the same boy that left his Indiana farm. I once asked him why he didn't talk about the war. He said there are things you don't want to remember.
My father joined the service at the age of 17. His older brother had already enlisted and was an Air Force pilot during WWII. I remember my grandmother telling me that my father insisted that she sign the papers so he could enlist, or he would leave home. I just see him saying that. My father was very, very "ornery", to say the very, very least. Could I sign those papers if it were my son, even with a threat of leaving hanging over my head? I don't know that I could.
Tom Brokaw said that the sons and daughters of WWII was the "greatest generation." I read the book and by all accounts, never was there ever before then such a sense of patriotism by all persons, not just those in the service, but also those at home. This book is worth a read. My grandmother had two sons at war. She was very proud of her sons. How does one bear that?
So, to all those who we have lost, no matter during what war or conflict, and to those who watch their loved ones serve our country, I thank you.
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