Memorial Day

It has been twelve years since my dad passed. How I wish we could sit in the backyard, those old-school lawn chairs fraying beneath our rears, and just chat over a Michelob Light. Don’t get me wrong, we still chat, but of course the conversation is different now.

He was a hero – for the nation, for his buddies with whom he served, for his family. Three and a half years in the Pacific as a Marine. Three purple hearts, the bronze medal and the silver star. These ‘awards’ meant little to him, for the accolades of war were reminders of events, of lives lost and horrors experienced. Of Tararawa. Of Rendova. Of Kwajalein. Of Eniwetok.

He will always be my hero because he returned with a gentle presence and years later upon my birth showed me the beauty of peace.

I am so grateful for all our heroes that have fought to provide our life in the United States. And I am so overwhelmingly appalled by those who have brought about these wars and continue to perpetuate them.

Let us take time aside from the BBQs and parades and fireworks of this weekend, to take a knee and a moment of pause to remember, and give praise to those who have passed.

I love you Dad.