Today is a day set aside to honor our men and women who have served our country in the armed forces. It is, I think, impossible for those of us who have never served to understand the true sacrifices, as well as the experiences, of those who have given themselves to this nation in that way. We talk, rather vacuously, I often think, about the sacrifices our military make for us, without knowing anything about what those sacrifices really entail. We pull out patriotism like it's a badge to wear, a bumper sticker or a pin on our lapel to sell our particular point of view, without understanding what the underlying efforts were really about.
Living where I do, I am accustomed to seeing footage on the news as the troops come and go from the various forts in our area. We become almost immune to the emotion, seeing the happy faces as people are reunited, and the sad faces as families watch their loved ones disappear into the unknown. But in that fleeting footage, we understand very little of what happens behind the scenes, as spouses become single parents, children live with daily fear that their mother or father will never come home again, and they try to live as normally as possible while knowing that someone they love is never out of harm's way.
This was brought home to me in a totally new way last spring. The picture of sacrifice that I think will remain with me forever was shown on the local news last April. A father came home on leave unexpectedly, and his teenaged daughter did not know. She arrived for her spring prom at the appointed location, beautifully dressed in her long gown, hair done, makeup perfect, attractive young man at her elbow.
She walked in the door, and the news photographer had the fun of filming her reaction upon seeing her father standing there in front of her. She burst into tears spontaneously, paralyzed for the moment upon seeing someone who was so important to her there in front of her so unexpectedly. Her dad walked over to her to hug her, and she just clung to him sobbing uncontrollably.
The sacrifice he had made for his country, for me, for all of us, was not his alone. It was, in a very real way, the sacrifice made by his children, who were deprived of someone whose presence should have been a given in their everyday life that made it real for me, made me even more grateful for their willingness to serve. I still weep every time I recall that picture in my mind, her emotion so overwhelming it reached me even through the television.
We see on the news when the soldiers come and go, but those are routine events, husbands and wives embracing, a few tears being shed, stoic smiles hiding breaking hearts that never let us inside to see what they are really feeling. They don't want to make things harder for each other, they want to send off their loved one, or leave them behind, with a smile as their last memory, and not the tears, I imagine.
But in that unexpected reunion, we glimpsed for a moment the raw emotion, the reality of feelings, the true depth of what is being given up. In seeing a teenager, who is usually fighting for independence, come completely undone simply for seeing her father, we see the face of the real sacrifice our military families are making. It increases my gratitude on this day, as we remember all of our veterans who made the same sacrifices, and for their families that they left behind.
I have several uncles who fought in World War II. Two of my uncles were in the ground forces in Europe. When I learned about the Battle of the Bulge, it was sobering to realize that I had a personal connection to that far off event.
I have an uncle who received a medal of honor from Charles de Gaulle himself, along with a certificate which he still proudly displays in his home. That is not just a piece of metal and a piece of paper for him. It is a tangible symbol of his experience, and a visible reminder that he was one of the fortunate ones who made it home again. It was the way that France chose to thank him for his service to them, and it is a reminder that he is, and always will be, a hero to them.
I simply cannot reconcile the uncles I know and love fighting for the very existence of our nation, and for our way of life that I so take for granted. I understood that my mother and her siblings and her parents must have worried and been concerned about each other. But it didn't really come home to me, because they were young, before my time, and I simply could not get my mind around it, until I saw that young girl's reaction to unexpectedly seeing her father. Now I think I might begin to understand the full scope of the sacrifice that really occurred, and it makes me that much more grateful.
I had two other uncles who served in the Pacific arena in the navy. I don't know how any of them came to be in the branch of the service they chose - I don't think any of them waited to be conscripted, I believe they all volunteered, as so many did in that war for the heart and soul of the world's future. I imagine it was a different sort of war for them, on the water, instead of having solid ground under their feet. I imagine them on the deck, looking out at the vast expanse of water, wondering what dangers lay hidden just beneath the impenetrable surface.
One of my uncles, my Uncle Fritz, was on a ship in the Far East somewhere. Like most veterans, he has never really talked to those of us who weren't there about his experiences, so I have never had the first hand account. But I did hear a story, brief and bare bones, from my mother, which I will share with you. I cannot describe his sacrifice, although I think he is probably very proud that no one on his sunken ship died in the disaster. But I do know from my mother the anxious waiting to hear that he was okay.
In the days before cell phones and the 24/7 internet news cycle, the information they awaited took a lifetime to come. It must have been excruciating for those who waited upon hearing of a battle in which their loved ones were engaged. And so it was for my grandparents, and his siblings, when the ship that my Uncle Fritz was on was sunk.
My mother was then in the Cities going to business college, and she has recalled for me walking down the street, and suddenly, unexpectedly, there was her brother, alive and in the flesh standing there before her. She knew before then that he was all right, that happy information had somehow made its way to them, already. But she had not known when she would see him again, when suddenly, there he was in front of her. He had come home on leave, intending to surprise his family with the gift of himself. The raw emotion that seeing him induced in her convinced my mom that their mother should not be surprised that way, and they made an advance call to announce his arrival shortly thereafter in my little home town!
I can well imagine how she must have wanted to cling to him, to hold his arm, to gaze at his face, holding on to the reality for a moment before he was gone again, and the worry would return. I think she may well have felt like that young lady who walked into a prom slightly sad over the father who was missing that once in a lifetime moment for her, only to realize that he was, in fact right there in front of her. [I would add that the young people prevailed upon him to remain with them that evening, and he enjoyed his daughter's senior prom as much as she did, which, in my opinion, is quite a sacrifice in and of itself!]
I have several cousins who also went off to another war, in a land far more puzzling and ephemeral for us, a land filled with people we have never understood, and probably still don't. As seems to always be true, they don't talk about it to those of us who weren't there, I guess they realize we can never understand, so I don't know anything about their experiences there. But I do know they were thought of all the time by their families waiting back home, and they thought of us, too.
For me, that war is remembered by the wearing of MIA bracelets, and protests here at home. I also have a beautiful collection of stamps, sent to me from Okinawa by my cousin's thoughtful wife who knew I collected them, and helped to expand my collection. [I still have them, and they are beautiful. I am thinking I should frame them or something, because they are special to me, but like everything else, I haven't gotten around to it.] I don't know what any of my cousins did in Southeast Asia, or what they saw or thought or felt. But I know that the experience helped to define them, changed them, made them the men they are today. I am very proud of them, and I fly my flag today to honor them and their service, not only to this country, but for me.
We are unquestionably fortunate to live in a country which is worth fighting, even dying, for. I am grateful for the sacrifices that have been made so that I can sit in my cozy house this morning and write these inadequate words of gratitude. Having come through this contentious election season, it is, I think, important to be reminded that the freedoms we enjoy to choose our leaders and complain about them afterwards have not come cheaply. The cost has been great, and we owe those who have paid it a debt that can never be repaid.
To those veterans in my own family, and to veterans everywhere, thank you.
