Black Oak's Daughter

Roomie and I have had quite a bit of discussion about Memorial day, it’s history, and how there’s not enough respect or honor for our war dead anymore. Memorial Day isn’t just the start of summer. It’s not just an excuse for a three day weekend. It’s a day to remember the men and women that have died for no other reason than to allow us the freedom to go about our day, relatively safely, with the life and liberty that the founders of this country had written our Constitution to protect.

These warriors that have served, protected, and died, so that I could raise my child in a place where she could play outside without fear of dreadful things that go on elsewhere in the world.  These warriors have served, protected, and died, so that I could enjoy the freedoms that I enjoy, lead a productive life, and pursue all the happiness that I can.  These warriors might not have understood everything that meant for the future of their progeny, but they fought for their God, Country, and Family, for the parts of it that they did understand.

I had four uncles that were these warriors. I never met two of them.  One, my mothers uncle, died on Omaha Beach at Normandy on D-Day and is one of nearly two thousand soldiers buried in the Normandy American Cemetary and Memorial.  If and when I make it to visit my friends in the UK, there will be a side trip to France to honor my uncle that died in that horrible battle. He had immigrated to the US as a child and died fighting a war against the regime of the country that he was born in.

Another two uncles, my father’s brothers, were in WWII.  They both made it back home, one with a Bronze Star, but neither of them knew how to cope with the horrible things that they saw and did as warriors. One of them died less than 10 years later, from something that hadn’t as yet been identified or treated as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The other died when I was a little girl.  I remember him.  He didn’t smile at all. Ever.  He lived with my Grandmother, worked when he could, drank most of the time, and died of a head injury that he got when he fell down the back stairs at their house. Post Traumatic Stress is a terrible thing.

A fourth uncle as well as my stepfather went to Korea and did what they could do to support the effort there.  They both came back and lived long lives with lots of loved ones supporting them. Thank God.

These men all did their part. Some of them paid the highest price they could pay for this beautiful country, and I’m so proud of them regardless of whether they lived or died because of it. I can not separate that in my mind, because they all put themselves into jeopardy for the same honorable cause.

For me, Memorial Day is about remembering that effort.

My father, who couldn’t fight for his country but desperately wanted to, was deeply affected by watching three of his brothers and many of his friends going off to fight. Dad did his part here at home while they were there, but until the day he died, he never felt like it was enough. Memorial day at our house was all about my Dad’s brothers who were both, in Dad’s mind, war heroes just because they went. It was about a lot of his friends that also went off to war, some of whom came back in body bags. Memorial Day was a real, tangible, honoring of so many of those men that my parents had grown up with.

Because of that, Memorial Day has always been a personal thing to me. I honor those men from my past.  I honor my mother’s uncle (I think his name was Peter) who died 20 years before I was born fighting for the life I would have.  I honor my Uncle Carl, who also died before I was born, of Post Traumatic stress.  They called it shell shock back then and there was no treatment, therapy, or otherwise for it. He lived with that horror within every day of his life after he came home. I remember my Uncle Fred, who I never understood until long after he was gone, why he was the way he was, and died in the same way that Carl did.

These men gave their lives on the combat field.

Hundreds of thousands of other men and women have similar stories. I don’t know anyone who can’t name a family member that’s been in a position to defend this country. There were hundreds of thousands of war dead in my parents era.

Fortunately, warfare since then has gotten more sophisticated and their aren’t as many casualties in the more recent wars. I think that’s part of why Memorial Day is not as honored as it used to be.  War doesn’t affect us like it used to. Memorial day has become a big party. The beginning of summer. An excuse for a three day weekend.

Honestly, I don’t mind the Memorial Day barbeque’s, or the racing, or any of that. They are a celebration of life and loved ones and I’m all for that, every day of the year. But don’t lose the meaning of this day.

There are plenty of parades around, plenty of war memorials, plenty of places to go and remember the men and women that aren’t with us anymore, and thank the ones that are also there remembering.  Even if you don’t go to any of those places, please, take one moment and honor our Veterans, and most especially all of the people that have died to make this country what it is.

Don’t ever forget them.

If we do, this country loses it’s meaning, it’s life, and the freedom that we have earned through their deaths means nothing.  The problem with freedom, is that once people forget how it was earned, it becomes taken for granted, devalued, and eventually gets weak enough for someone else to take it away.

Don’t EVER forget them.

Enjoy your freedom an extra little bit today because of them.

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