I didn't plan on writing a blog this morning. But when I woke up and heard the rain against the window it reminded me of the many tears that families will shed in remembrance of a loved one who died for our country. Tears from those who hadn't died, yet start every new day fighting back memories and sounds of the cost of freedom.
Yesterday while going through boxes of my parents' belongings, I came across some ripped-out sheets of paper with Dad's handwriting. He used the old long yellow legal pad to tell his experience during one of his missions in Vietnam.
My dad didn't use a computer so I'm certain that this was a rough draft to be typed out. He was trying to explain the hazardous conditions he was exposed to that led to his lung disease. Most likely to seek compensation, that he would never see.
I put them in the pile to keep. My brother asked why I wanted to keep the papers. I said, "To remember".
We live in a time where so much history is being thrown away or disrespected. The scribbled words on a legal pad are just one of the stories that create history. These stories are used to make up history books, or intense military movies that people like to watch, then walk away saying, "Wow."
It's easier not to read about the horrible conditions, killing, and torment. Never mind the aftermath that affected and still affects families to this day. For our family, my dad was an alcoholic. Would he have been one if he hadn't experienced war? We will never know, nor does it matter any longer. But, he is remembered on this Memorial Day.
Once in a while, I eat lunch with my mom at her assisted living. At the end of the table, a gentleman named Billy used to sit in his wheelchair and struggle to bring the food to his mouth. An Air Force cap was always on his head. I asked, "What did you do in the Airforce Billy?" He couldn't speak well due to a stroke, but someone chimed in and said," He flew fighter jets during World War Two. At that moment, in my mind, I saw him sitting up straight in a full uniform eating his meal. The respect I felt for him was a little overwhelming. That particular day, I stopped at his chair, and told him, "Thank you."
As I walked down the hallway to leave, I noticed a photo, that I'm sure was there all along...it was a younger Billy in his Military uniform. He died a few months later, and all I could think of was, "Wow," I touched history. He is remembered on this Memorial Day for his service to our country.
Like the Eagle, we are free to soar to great heights in the United States of America! But remember whose wings we are flying on this Memorial Day!
With Love,
Cathy
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