Like so many, dad didn’t talk about his service
When my dad passed away in January, the pinnacle of saying goodbye was the military honor ceremony that occurred immediately after his funeral service. As a veteran who served in World War II, he earned the ultimate acknowledgement.
My brother, sister and I stood transfixed as the lone bugler played each note of “Taps” with intention and lingering pause. The melodic performance stilled our world. We felt my dad’s sacred camaraderie with all others who’ve served our country; from the Potomac
River to the outskirts of Baghdad, my dad became forever part of the club of distinguished veterans.
As we watched the American flag folded with intention into the iconic triangular blue field of stars, my siblings and I were gifted with the great appreciation for my dad’s service, and felt his legacy cemented with others who experienced the challenges of military service. My brother received the flag, and it is now framed in a place of pride and prominence in his home.
Like many who have served our country, my dad didn’t talk much about his time in the Navy. My siblings and I often asked him about his experiences, but more often than not my dad deferred to “I don’t really remember.”
I have no doubt that the memory of his 92-year-old mind had lost its razorsharp recollection abilities, but even when he was younger and in the throes of life, he didn’t talk about his time aboard the naval ship that disembarked from Hawaii and was stationed in Guam. We heard one or two stories that became the subject of lighthearted Thanksgiving-table banter, but I always knew there was more. It took a lone bugler to quiet me with respect for the distinction my dad carried so humbly through his life.
As we mark Memorial Day, I can’t help but think about all among us, young and old, who’ve worked to preserve our freedom. The range of outward expression reflecting their experiences is vast. Some veterans speak openly, display well-deserved medals, and recount stories of how their love for our country took them to places across the globe.
There are many others, I know, who feel more comfortable with an understated presence. Perhaps the post-traumatic demons threaten their quest for “normal” living. Perhaps recollections are too overwhelming. Or perhaps, their time serving is tucked beneath a part of a different, more surreal existence from a yesteryear.
This Memorial Day, I hope to take some time to reflect on all those who chose to step into military boots. I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet those boots took them to places unimagined, and perhaps altered their life trajectory. As one who often takes for granted the freedoms given to me as an American citizen, I salute all the men and women who put our collective freedom on their shoulders and make the choice to walk the unknown path. They, like my dad, might not talk much about the days that earned them a bugle serenade. My hope is that they can somehow feel our shared gratitude, and our appreciation can penetrate the wide scope of their banked memories.
Our greatness as a country exists in large part to those who choose to protect us. They walk humbly among us. And just like the bugle song, I hope the simple expression of their profound example will continue to still us all.