Memorial Day: A Time to Remember

Sometimes words fail us. In certain circumstances, no words are the right words. Grief, even wrenching grief that feels like a lead weight on your chest, has a tendency to be silent. Courage has a tendency to be silent too. In real life, the people who talk the most, are often the people who have done the least.

At too many Memorial Day ceremonies this week, local dignitaries and celebrities will give speeches while the veterans sit silently by contemplating friends who are now names carved on stones.
 In case you somehow missed it, this isn't just a three day weekend that, in California, already feels like high Summer. This is Memorial Day weekend.

It is, perhaps, inevitable that too many people don't really understand that "Memorial Day" isn't just an excuse for mattress sales, traffic jams, and backyard barbecues. Some memories are hard to talk about.

When I was a little girl I asked the old guy who lived across the street from my parents why he didn't go to the Memorial Day parade like the other veterans. Mr. M was a World War II vintage Marine who'd fought in the Pacific theatre. On Memorial Day, like every day, he'd put the flag up in the morning, and bring it in in the evening, but he'd never go anywhere. In late afternoon he'd sit on his porch drinking two inches of amber whiskey out of a heavy glass, enjoying the sun.

His combat career had included some of the most vicious battles of the Island Hopping campaign. He'd already been in uniform when Pearl Harbor was bombed in 1941. He was on a ship by New Year's Day 1942.

His answer, when I asked him why he didn't go to a parade, or a ceremony, was pretty simple. When he was nineteen he legitimately didn't think he'd live to see his twentieth birthday. Instead, he made it through the war, made it through the twentieth century, and lived well into the 21st century. On Memorial Day he liked to stay home, fly his flag, drink his whiskey, sit in the sun, and think about all his friends who didn't make it.

The soldiers of the First World War have all made their final march long since. There are, at most, a dozen Americans still alive who remember waving handkerchiefs at the departing doughboys.

Soon, most of the veterans of the Second World War will leave us. Korea, Vietnam, and our more recent wars, have all taken their toll. The children of the men who fell in Korea and Vietnam now have grey hair.

Words really don't mean much when confronting names on stones. But, every name on every stone represents some son, father, brother, husband, sister, mother or daughter, who didn't get to contemplate old age while sitting in the sun drinking whisky on a beautiful hot California day.

Rest in peace, Mr. M.

And please, if you have a chance, take a moment this week to remember & maybe try to find the words to talk to someone about what Memorial Day means.

~ Sarah Nagle