Memorial Day honors the fallen, and isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s a day to remember all those who served this great United States of America and didn’t make it home. Memorial Day is a time to reflect on the young lives lost in combat and brought home in a flag draped coffin.
How many wars has the United States been involved in over our 245 year history as a nation? How many countries owe us a debt that can never paid in dollars? How many tears have been shed by families who lived with an empty seat at the dinner table?
Memorial Day in my home town always meant marching with the high school band to the cemetery. Since I played the snare drum, it meant keeping the cadence and remembering to play on the rim once we entered the flag-lined grounds where a crowd was gathered. It meant beginning the drum roll for the Star Spangled Banner.
Memorial Day was listening to the local Legion Post pay tribute with speakers and a 21 gun salute. It was itching in that band uniform while the Gold Star Mother was honored and Taps were played by Ken and Jane.
Marching out of the cemetery and back to the high school where we had all gathered earlier in the morning was probably at a little faster pace as I was young, and the really important thing was getting to the lake for the day.
I had not lost a family member or a close friend to a war. Both of my dad’s brothers fought in World War ll, but we were fortunate because they came home. They married and we had lots of family dinners and holidays together. I saw the medals and the hole in Uncle Delbert’s helmet from the bullet, but only years later did I realize it wasn’t just a cool souvenir. The bullet hole was a reminder of how close he had come to death and returning to Arcadia under a flag.
Uncle Louis and Aunt Dorothy went to the reunions every year for the men who survived in his unit. Each year there were fewer attendees. Unfortunately his health, mostly his eye sight, kept him from the last few. He and Delbert lived into their nineties, and the picture of the elderly man with the shadow soldier behind him reminds me of them. They were our funny, lovable uncles who helped save the world.
Memorial Day isn’t a day of remembrance for those who came home, it’s for the ones we lost. I didn’t understand the weight so many have borne when I was itching in that band suit. I have a much better understanding now, and would gladly adjust that drum strap and let the sweat run down my back without batting an eye. I would listen with respect and be humbled to have the chance to honor them. The haunting final notes of Taps would find a tear sliding down my cheek.
Memorial Day has nothing to do with printing t-shirts. This holiday weekend, while many celebrate the informal beginning of the summer season, we mustn’t forget to remember and honor the men and women who have lost their lives to war, serving our beloved country. The true meaning of the day…Never forget.