Memorial day. The last long weekend of the school year and the first real sign of summer. A holiday that is associated with BBQ's and camping trips. For some it ends there, but for many others it's so much more.
Growing up every Memorial day was magical to me. My whole family would go to Tilikum day Camp in Carlton, OR along with my grandparents for a day canoeing, fishing, and hiking. This place is still has a special place in my heart. I caught my first fish there, a rainbow trout. My grandpa Leroy made me take it off the hook and I almost gave up fishing. I think I was about 7 years old. In the afternoon we would sit under a shady tree at a picnic table with an iconic red and white table cloth and eat KFC chicken, mashed potatoes, bisquits and drink cold lemonade. The table was always adorned with a stand holding little flags, the American flag and the Marine corp flag. At the time I didn't think much of it, but that little holiday stood for so much more than chicken and fishing trips for my grandparents. As my grandparents got older we stopped going to Tilikum and would instead have a BBQ at their house, eating hamburgers and drinking lemonade around the same stand of flags, enjoying family and remembering those who'd died for this country.
I remember one year in particular we did something a little different. We all loaded up in our cars and went to a big Memorial somewhere near Portland. Standing there looking out at all those flags, a representation of so much loss and sacrifice even I couldn't help but be overcome by the magnitude of it all, though the names on the wall and the little markers didn't have faces or stories to go with them. However as I looked over at my Grandfather, one of the strongest men I've ever known and saw tears streaming down his face, you could almost see the memories washing over him. This might be the only time I ever saw him cry and it had I will never forget it. This big, strong man shaking and with sobs of grief and loss. I had always heard the footnotes version of his experiences in WW2, and those stories were foggy at best in my memory. His best friend (and many other friends) had been killed, he'd had to jump out of a plane that was hit at one point (or one of his friends had? Not positive about this one.) He had served 20 years in the Marine's and then retired to become a Post Master in El Cajon, CA (or somewhere in that vacinity.) I always wanted to know more, but somehow it seemed a sacred, avoided subject. So much loss. My Grandmother had her own loses as her one and only brother, her baby brother, Ira Cornell had died along with two other soldiers somewhere in France as they helped save a town from the enemy. There is actually a statue in their honor standing to this day in that same town. All these things I knew, but what I knew more than the stories, told and untold alike was the shadow they left behind. They weren't something to be lingered upon or shared often, but what was always impressed upon me was to be grateful for their sacrifice, and remember what had been given for this country they loved so much. The freedoms we love and take for granted, and the freedoms that allow us at times to diss those who gave them to us (how ironic is that?) I hear shouts and soldiers "Peace, not war." Peace? Yes, these men and women wanted Peace. They fought for peace and it meant more to them than it does to us because they knew what it was like not to have it. They saw the price they needed to pay and gladly paid it. Men and women continue to do so today. So whether or not I agree with all the politics surrounding the armed forces, may I never forget to thank those who serve and to remember those whose lives have made mine possible. To my father who graduated early to serve in the Marines, Thank you. To both my grandfathers, gone before me and my great Aunt Margaret as well, thank you. And for those of you who are serving today or are family members of those serving (we know that the sacrifice you make is just as great), Thank you. Wishing you all a happy Memorial day.
