Their stories

It is a brisk Autumn day somewhere on the West Coast. Three generations of family and dozens of friends have gathered to pay their final respects. A bugler plays "Taps" as the old solder is laid to rest. It's taken 60 years but now he's finally able to join the buddies he left behind on the beaches of Normandy.

It is a rainy winter day in the Southwest. A father reads the latest e-mail from his daughter. In his mind she will always be his little princess, forever 6 years old with pigtails and a pretty pink dress. However, daddy's little girl is all grown up and serving on a ship somewhere in the ocean. He looks up at all the photos on the wall, sighs, and says a prayer for her safety.

In a VA hospital somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, the old man looks at the young nursing assistant and tells her she reminds him of the girl he met while on a 3 day pass in Seoul. His eyes glaze over and and his mind wanders back to that day oh so long ago. As he starts to tell his tale, one of the nurses comes in and tells the confused young women not to be alarmed, he does this all the time.

It is a warm summer night in the Midwest and the campfire is crackling. It's the perfect end to the perfect weekend. The last 15 months of deployment have been hell. Through the weeks and months what kept him going was the promise he made to his boys that when he came home they'd load up the camper, pack the fishing gear, and head out in search of the one that got away. He looks over at the kids, sticky from making s'mores, squeezes his wife's hand, and smiles.

It's a beautiful Indian Summer day in Washington DC. A group of men gather at one section of the Vietnam Wall. They do this every few years. Now of course they are more likely to be carrying AARP cards than the draft cards they once had. They laugh and joke, and show off the latest photos of the grandkids. As they read the names, the memories and stories start to come back. For a few hours, they are together again.

Farther down The Wall stands a mother. Her hair has turned from soft brown to snow white. She comes here year after year, always to this same spot. She traces her son's name with her fingers and the tears fall down her cheeks. She wants only to bring him home so he can be closer to her but she can't. Three little letters next to his name tells her that her boy has yet to be found.

It is a muggy spring day in the South. The little boy hops out of the van clutching the bouquet of brightly colored balloons. He is so excited, he gets to eat ice cream later today and play with his cousins at Grandma's house. His little 3 year old legs start running. His mother calls to him and tells him to wait for her. She is carrying his little sister with one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other. The little boy stops and waits. They slowly make their way across the decorated rows until they reach the spot they are looking for. The mother sets her daughter down on a blanket and then helps her older child put the balloons next to the headstone and arranges the flowers in the vase. She feels something tug at her leg and looks down to see the girl has crawled over to her. She sits down on the ground and pulls the girl onto her lap. Her son sits next to her. The little girl points to the headstone and says "da da?"
"Yes, replies her mother, "that's daddy"

In the truest sense, freedom can not be bestowed, it must be achieved.
-Franklin D. Roosevelt




* I hope you enjoyed my Memorial Day tribute to those who have served our country or are currently serving. The people and places written about in this post are a work of fiction.*