Memorial Day is a day of remembrance. Not just service members, but those who have passed before us.
Last week I had the privilege of attending a conference in Washington DC. I had never been there. While there, I was able to take a few hours out and “sightsee”. I cringe to use that word when talking about visiting the memorials of our nation. Sightseeing sounds so frivolous and frivolous is not a word I would use in conjunction with what I saw and felt.
First of all, just being there felt surreal in a way. To know there was sooo much history right in front of me. It was amazing. Then I saw many of the war memorials. Since it was the week before Memorial Day, some of the memorials were being cleaned and were not in their full glory. However, the reason and intent of the memorial was very evident.
I walked slowly along the WWII memorial. One, because it was amazing (as all of them were), and two, since it was right before the big weekend there were a LOT of WWII veterans there so I walked slowly to hear some of what was being said. Many of them were talking to the person who was pushing their wheel chair or holding them on one side while they walked with a cane on the other. They would say stuff like "I was a fighter pilot", or where they served, or talked about the guys they served with. I did not get to hear too much because they were very soft spoken when talking. Some because they were reverent, some because they were lost in the past, some because of both. I stood back because I knew these were personal feelings. When I could feel the weight of their feelings and memories I moved on because I felt I was intruding.
I have heard all my life about what the veterans have done for this country and how grateful I should be for our service members. Since I am the daughter in a military family, granddaughter of military, and was a military wife for 7 years, I know this, and I appreciate it. However, nothing could have made me feel this as profoundly as I did in Washington DC when I went to the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial.
I started to walk along the walls and to look at the names of thousands of service members who died either in the war, or as a result of injuries sustained in the war. They were faceless names of men and women who meant nothing more to me than the fact they served my country and I was appreciative. I kept scanning names I did not know; not really seeing them. Then I happened upon a scene that lasted only seconds but will forever be with me. There was a woman who had her camera pointed at someone standing at the wall just a few feet away. Not wanting to walk in front of her, I walked around. In that instant I glanced at the woman who was having her picture taken. There she stood, she was either in her 70’s or 80’s. I am not sure of her age because the raw grief on her face made it difficult to tell. She stood there looking at the camera with her finger on a name, oblivious to all those around her. The camera clicked and she turned her attention to the name. The tears were running freely down her face. The grief was so potent that I turned away in shame because I was intruding on such a personal and sacred moment. It lasted only seconds, but it seemed like a lifetime.
I handed the person with the camera a tissue to give to the woman, and I turned away and kept walking. No words were exchanged. Nothing. What could be said? I became profoundly aware that I did not understand what it meant to have true gratitude in my heart for our service members. Especially for the ones who lost their lives. Most importantly, I never thought to have gratitude for the family members who lost their loved ones. At least not beyond the initial learning of the death. Here it is, decades later and this woman’s grief seemed as fresh for her as when she lost her husband, child, fiancé, friend or whomever it was that was so dear to her heart.
I think the significant part of it was, it could have been my mother standing at the wall with her finger on my father’s name while I captured a minuscule picture of her grief through a camera lens. It brought reality to my door. My father served in that war and did not lose his life. However, I am sure there are profound things he did lose such as his innocence, his ability to see mankind only at it's best, and so forth. He has never said, and we have never asked.
How grateful I am to the service members of this nation, to their families who sacrifice, to the families who have continued on, to the service members who pay the ultimate price. I am humbled and grateful to the woman at the wall who unintentionally, and unwittingly, shamed me from my box of “platitude gratitude”. She let me know that I am a blessed woman to live in a country so free; bought for me with a huge price tag that was, by no means, free.
