A Patriot describes Memorial Day

Memorial Day


Once a year the masses turn out to pay homage to those who have left this earth to go into eternity. This entails putting flowers on the graves of those that have gone beyond what we know on this earth, the unknown to us. Because we cannot know what is beyond we at times pretend what lies ahead. Some feel sure they know what lies ahead for them, others are mute on the subject. That is one of those inalienable rights given to us by the men who formed our Constitution. With that I will use my right to tell you what Memorial Day means to me.

I was about twelve-years-old when first faced with the death of one very close to me. What I remember of that time. There had been happiness and joy just a few months earlier as I, along with my mother, sister, younger brother and my brother's fiancé gathered into our kitchen to bake cookies, fudge and other treats to put into a box filled with popcorn. This was to be a Christmas gift for my oldest brother, Bill who had enlisted into the Army. He had completed basic training and paratrooper training when he was given orders to ship out to Korea. We were so hoping we could get the box to him before he left California. The box arrived before he shipped out. Inside we had inserted pictures of the gathering so he could feel closer to us. He was only nineteen years old. Then to me he was a man. Looking back I realize he was a mere child, going off to fight a war to defend my freedom.

My next image is of a cloudy day, one that I felt had taken all the sunshine from reaching into the heart of our family. That cold, lifeless piece of news call a telegram was sent to my dad informing him his son was Missing In Action. The joy of that Christmas box gave way to tears that would not stop falling. I was young, not familiar with wars and what the do to families. I was beginning to learn.

I watched my mother bake pies in our truck stop (The Star Truck Stop on Route 40 in Lafayette). She rolled out the crusts with tears streaming down her face. Her look was haggard and gaunt as though sleep had eluded her for months. The truckers came, ate the pies and were gone. Still mother cried. For what seems like years, I watched her grieve. Still, she knew her work had to continue. We had a business to run, and it went on. Because of my concern for mother, I learned her way of baking pies which I have kept alive still today. We had many food items but one of the favorites of people near and far were the dozen or so pies she baked fresh each day.

Then came the day my brother's body was returned from the war zone. The gaping wound of sorrow was reopened as the ritual of burial had to be attended. Because my parents were business owners (restaurants with home cooking) they were well-respected in our town. My dad was known as a very honest man who kept his word, did a good day's work for his pay and treated everyone equal. This trauma changed him. In order to make it through each day, he used alcohol. He never missed any time of work, never shirked any duties, but when it was time to sleep, it was brought on with the help of a bottle of liquor. He steeled against the need to grieve. He had no time to do so. I am sure when he went to his basement bedroom he too cried in anguish over the loss of his first-born son. This ordeal widened a gap of lonliness between him and mother. He was too strong to cry. After all, what good would that do? It would not bring his son home alive. He had faced too many losses. This one seemed at the time to be the greatest.

We all gathered at the Lukin's Funeral Home for services to honor my brother for his service and bravery. The smell of some flowers to this day bring back those memories. The room was filled with the fragrance of about three rooms filled in any open space to put a tribute to Bill. I don't remember much about going to the cemetery, but I do remember being there. This was the same place my dad used to dig graves to earn a living. As we went I recalled the time he had dug a grave and sent my other brother to the house to get us so we could see what an open grave looked like. In those days, the graves were dug by hand. When it was clear we were all on our way back, Bill jumped down into the open pit and lay prone. As we peered over the edge of the chasm Bill jumped up with a loud shout. This brought on gasps and shouts of our own as it was unexpected to have something inside that hole. My brother laughed, my dad laughed his normal way. I don't think I ever heard him really laugh out loud, just a chuckle and smile.

There was a tent with chairs sitting in front of the casket, which had never been opened. My brother was sent home in a body bag and due to the elapsed time viewing was not possible. How badly he was mutilated, we do not know. We only know his death was among most of his fellow soldiers that were sent up Porkchop Hill to dig in. They never got to dig in as some Second Lieutenant left behind to set off flares did not wait long enough for the men to get entrenched. I learned this from a soldier years later when my husband was stationed in Lawton, Oklahoma at Fort Sill. The soldier was there, but not with the outfit that was sent up the hill. I can only imagine the anguish in this man's soul from that day forward. I was told he was court marshaled and sent to Levenworth. I cannot state that for sure as I do not know the man's name, only what I was told by a soldier that was there.

I had on a new dress, as did my sister and mother. I don't recall what others had on. I was busy watching my mother. I can still hear the lone bugle playing that haunting tune in the distance. Mother's shoulders were jerking with every breathe as she silently wept into her handkerchief. It was as though if she could hide her face away, this scene would all go away. This scene was destined to run over and over in my mind for years. The sound of Taps brings tears each time I hear them.

About twenty years later with one grave between, my husband, Roger was laid to rest in Soldiers Circle. He served in the military and was therefore afforded the right to be counted a patriot. He was only days from being 35-years-old when killed in a work-related accident. In an instant life changed. Three men knocked on my door on a pleasant Tuesday. They were dressed in suits. Their words did not register. They were there to inform me my husband had been involved in a fatal accident. My response to them; "Oh, I am so sorry, was anyone hurt?" They looked at me puzzled. Suddenly the word fatal came to the forefront. I asked if they would give me a few minutes alone. They refused thinking I might do something stupid. Actually all I wanted was to get on my knees and pray for strength and wisdom. I did this while they waited. I knew as soon as that word registered I was going to have to rely on God to walk with me. On my own, I would not have had the strength.

The flight back to London seemed endless. My children and I were all seated in first class where we were free to have tears rolling down our faces without the intrusion of peering eyes wondering why we were sad. I had been down this road before My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. The choking sobs seemed to cause my throat to ache. So young, so full of life. Why had God allowed this to happen? And then I recall my prayer; "God, don't take him until he is a Christian". God had answered my prayer. I had to smile just a little because I knew someday we would meet again. It was not going to make life easier, but it would make facing it alone more bearable. Again, we gathered at the same funeral home, new owner. Chet Greer was the one who took care of all the needs. Again, I was at Soldier's Circle, with one grave and twenty some years between my brother and my husband' grave. This time I was the one who had to accept that folded flag. This time I saw my dad cry. The heart break he felt was just more than he could stand. Again that melody seemed to sear an indelible mark in my head. I could not stand that sound. I wanted to run and never stop. The words - day is done. Not only the day, but his life was done. My four children were now without their father. My oldest was seventeen, my youngest four. I think this was harder for her than all the others. She no longer could look forward to daddy coming home and taking her for ice cream. It was a habit they liked to do when he came back from one of the road trips.

Later, in the same funeral home, now owned by Bill Eberle, my father lay in state. At the age of 80, he was laid to rest in the same cemetery where we as kids used to play hide and seek amongst the tombstones at night. We were not afraid, we had no reason to be. It was where we lived and how my dad earned a living for a while before we bought our first restaurant. He did not ask for handouts, he found one job or another to earn a living. From a young lad of 11 who had to quit school to support his widowed mother, to soldier to farmer, to grave digger, to Supply Sargent, to entrepreneur owner operator of five different restaurants in the London area. He was a man to look up to, one I would trust with my life.

My mother cries no more. She is resting beside my dad. I will carry flowers to their graves to honor them. To me they are true patriots. My brother gave his life for his country. He knew the dangers. It did not matter. He was proud to be an American. My husband spent two tours in Viet Nam. He too knew the dangers. He was willing to fight for America's freedom. He fought for the American Flag. He would be appalled at our government today. He too, never asked for a handout. He found one job or another to care for his family.

Memorial Day to me is about freedom. It is about the American way of life. The way our founding father's set forth. It takes me back to the morning Frances Scott Key stood in the boat off shore and penned the words that became our National Anthem. I have a copy of that. When cleaning out my garage, I came across this very old, brittle parchment placed in a plastic wrapper. I did not know what it was, but thought whoever wrote this was important to my mother. When I opened it I found the hand-written words of The Star Spangled Banner. The document is at least 100 years old and a treasure to own. It is part of my heritage. My grandmother was Nancy (Nannie) Key, who was a direct descendent to the writer of that document. He was more than just a one-song wonder, but that is all people are taught about him. He was an attorney. He in fact was the District Attorney for the District of Columbia. How sad he would be to see what has happened to our leaders. They seem to have no patriotism for those things to which our country was founded. The men in office today are there because they like the status. Their first priority is for themselves. Well, folks. I tell you, there is a new day coming. There are elections to be held and heads are going to roll. If you don't think that is possible, hang loose. Remember, God is in control and His Word says; James 4:10 Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up.

We cannot and should not allow those who want to destroy us to have free reign in America. It is time we stand up for what this country was built on. Changing the constitution to fit a liberal take all you can get way of life is not right. I was asked if I discriminate. My answer to that is yes. When it comes to someone from another country desecrating the American Flag I discriminate. When someone sneaks into our borders illegally, I discriminate. I am an American and proud of it. I refuse to give up my rights to be politically correct. I will call an illegal an illegal, not a generic non-resident. I will call a terrorist a terrorist, not a radical. I will call one who abuses our system a law breaker, no matter what abuse. Yes, I discriminate.

How about it, citizens. Are you ready to stand up and fight for what is our LEGAL rights? If we are struck down for doing so, be it known, it will be for the love of our country. It will be for the soldier who is buried in a grave in France, German and England. We have lost enough. Why do we sit back now and say nothing while our freedoms are being stepped on by our own government. Stand up America. Be a Patriot. Show your flag without shame.

Now you have my reason for celebrating Memorial Day. Long may our flag wave. Long may we honor those who know the true meaning of patriotism.