Personal Sacrifice
We, as a nation, have frequently been portrayed as being imperialistic with the avaricious intention of capturing the minds and bodies of people from lands far beyond our own territorial boundaries. But when General Colin Powell was chided at a state dinner in Paris about this characterization, he replied that yes, there are lands here of which we have a deep personal interest. These small plots of land that hold the earthly remains of brave American soldiers who fell in defense of countries whose names are difficult to pronounce and are scattered all over the world in secluded corners of obscurity. These are the only parcels of land we claim as our own. Memorial Day is not of a place in time or location. It dwells in the hearts and minds of people who honor and revere the memory of those valiant young men and women who sacrificed their sacred lives so that we might all live free from fear in this, the greatest country on this planet. The darkening skies of twilight cast their lengthening shadows upon the geometrically
precise rows of sterile white markers, each with the name of a fallen hero. Somewhere in the distant yesterday a solitary bugler calls out the mournful sound of taps, recognized, universally as the final tribute to one of God�s fallen warriors.
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As the last twenty one gun salute echoes above these silent sentinels, we bow our heads and say a silent prayer This a now a hallowed place and the sepulchral stillness is broken only by the melancholy sadness of those left behind. |
We suffer in our individual sorrow for no one can share my grief. It is a personal pain that penetrates my soul and I weep, not for myself but for the life that was taken long before his time. The passage of time has tempered this pain but it will forever be etched upon my heart and will never be forgotten beyond those who mourn his passing. We pay a terrible price for freedom that too many young men and women will never experience. We put them in harm�s way and they die so that we might live free from fear.
These brave young people have made the ultimate sacrifice for a largely insensitive society that places personal convenience above the responsibility we all carry, to the articles of the constitution of these united states. There was a time when the military was treated with disdain as the dregs of a gentile society. Wars were ugly things that were fought away from our shores and we were secure in out own little spheres of safety. Those that died in them were regarded as unfortunate casualties and soon forgotten. But then, someone thought to honor these brave warriors with a day set aside for sober retrospection. One day, in 365, a small price to pay for such a great sacrifice. And now, this day has taken of the mantle of a festive occasion. It has been expanded into a three day weekend with badly cooked barbecue and warm beer as the focal point.
Were it not for selfless dedicated people, such as this young girl, these graves would go largely forgotten with little or no recognition. We are so dedicated to our hedonistic pursuits that we ignore the original intent of honoring our war dead. I spend this time, every year, in quiet contemplation of my son who is among those, we honor here, today. There will be no golf, this weekend. When they sent him home, it was with no fanfare or military ceremony. He was treated like a thief in the night and the only tears shed were those of his family. There was no military ceremony or recognition of his supreme sacrifice.They shipped him home in the middle of the night in an unidentifiable box so as not to alienate the war protesters, draft card burners and other war dissenters. What they did not understand was that my son died so that THEY could go out and protest. The only honorable reception he received was from immediate family and close friends.. It was a shameful time for this country and although the scars on my soul are not visible, they are none the less painful. But our small New England town did not scorn him. At his funeral, all the town's schools were closed and our small church was filled to overflowing. A tree was planted in the town square and the high school athletic field still bears his name. He was buried with full military honors and he now lies in the small church yard cemetery, between two of his viet nam buddies on a hill overlooking the Farmington river where he spent so much of his adolescent time, just being a boy. I just hope that all you viet nam era people, out there, have finally come to the realization that freedom, wherever it is challenged in this world, is a threat to our own. Now, on memorial day, I don't say "happy memorial day", which in itself is an oxy-moron, I say a small prayer for all of those brave young men who have made possible all that we enjoy, today. Somewhere, some how, we have lost the meaning and intent of this day. This day has now taken on the fa�ade of heralding the spring season. We have expanded it into a three day weekend with barbeque and beer as the main focus rather than the honoring of those who died defending our right to debauch ourselves in bacchanalian pleasures.