Remembering Memorial Day

I am ashamed to say that there was a time in my life that Memorial Day signaled the start of summer, the first weekend at the beach and BBQs. No reflection was given to the actual meaning of this holiday; no tears were shed for the fallen and no thought of the parents, brothers, sisters, children and friends left behind. When I joined the military, I was embarrassed that I and so many others had lost sight of its meaning. In recent years, as the casualties of war hit closer and closer to home, I nurtured a deeper understanding of Memorial Day.  Still I have never truly understood the day as I do this year. This year my husband joins the ranks of those whose memory we are supposed to be honoring on this “holiday”. The truth is every day is now Memorial Day in my life and there is no joy or celebration left in this 3 day weekend.

For our two year anniversary last year, my husband, Chris, and I decided to give each other something we both had been desperately missing, something far more valuable than gold or diamonds. We gave each other time. After a year of frequent separations for training exercises all over the country, Chris and I escaped for a pre-deployment vacation to Hawaii.  The previous year we had celebrated our belated honeymoon in Kauai and Maui and we had fallen in love with the islands. If you don’t know, our honeymoon was delayed by Chris’ first deployment shortly after our wedding and then his participation in RIMPAC shortly after he returned.

Even though Maui was calling our name, the history buff and the American in me longed to visit the Arizona and pay my respects. As with everything, we researched, worked dates into Chris’ schedule and finally booked.  It was not until later that we realized we would be there during the 70^th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Many survivors joined us on the island to remember the event. At the Arizona, we bore witness to both the pain and the strength of these men. We were not the only ones that noticed; everywhere we saw them, people honored and respected these men. It was a touching sight and an honor to be around and a part of this band of brothers. On the plane ride home, I asked Chris the question that had been haunting me, “Do you think our country will ever remember and respect the veterans and the fallen from this war like they do those from WWII?” Chris replied with the answer that I already knew in my heart, “No.”  I never imagined that Chris would be gone within 5 months of that day.

We haven’t even finished this war and already people have forgotten that we still have men and women fighting and dying for our country.  A week after Chris’ death I was rudely reminded of this reality while at a military medical facility. When the nurse there was informed that my husband was killed in Afghanistan, the first words out of her mouth were “I didn’t think we still had troops there.” I was flabbergasted but managed to reply that yes we still had many troops there. She persisted that the news had told her that we were coming home. After a series of increasingly uncomfortable questions including asking me “is there a body to come home?” I came to the realization that if someone employed by the US Navy could be so in the dark, then there are probably many Americans that have already checked out on this war.  We have grown complacent; war no longer interrupts most of our daily lives like it did in WWII. People at home are not rationing flour or turning in metal to make bullets. We do not proudly wrap yellow ribbon around the old oak tree.  The media brushes over Afghanistan coverage between pieces on Kim Kardashian and interparty quarrelling.  We are a society that flew the flags at half-mast for a celebrity that overdosed on drugs. When this is what the media focuses on, it is easy to forget that there are still many Americans fighting for our flag on foreign soil. It does not matter your politics, or whether or not you agree with the war. You can be sure most of those troops do not want to be there, away from family, friends and the luxuries of the modern world, but they continue to go for you and for each other.

 I’ve heard the criticisms. The military is made up of the dumb, the poor, the jail-avoiders. I am an Ivy League graduate from a well-off family. My husband was a dual degree business and engineering honor student. Despite what many think, we don’t owe you an explanation for being in the military and we are not a minority or rarity in it. Most of the greatest people I have ever met, I have met through the military. Not just the service members themselves but also their husbands, wives and children.  It takes something special to join those ranks.

Even as I sit next to a grave, I know this day isn’t about me and it’s not about the dead either, they are gone. Our story is already written. It’s about the living. It’s about remembering each and every day that there are men and women that are sacrificing for us, even while the news reports that all their efforts are in vain. We can never take them for granted or fail to show our appreciation. Every day I think of the team that Chris left behind in Afghanistan. I think of his former roommate who volunteered to leave early and take Chris’ place. I think of all their families who wait anxiously for their safe return. Each and every one of them has a piece of my heart and they are in my thoughts and prayers.