Memorial Day has always had a more somber, solemn feel to it for me. As the son of a combat veteran, I was raised with an appreciation for the day and its significance. Part of our family tradition was to visit the graves of relatives who had long since passed, many of whom I never met. Now, most of those whose graves we visited never served and were fortunate to die in their later years, yet the importance of remembering all those who lived before was instilled in me at a young age. I also remember the cemeteries filled with flags placed on the tombs of all who did serve, whether or not they fell in theater or passed away many years later, still haunted by the memories of those who never made it home. I do not visit the cemeteries anymore on this day — they’re usually very crowded and busy, as should be appropriate — yet that does not mean I don’t remember those who died for their country. I also remember those who were wounded in action, yet returned home, forever changed physically in the service of their country. While we remember those, we often forget to remember those who returned, not wounded physically yet carrying the scars in their minds and souls. Far too many veterans suffer these unseen wounds and end up taking their own lives, a horrific testament to the brutal reality of war, and an indictment of the lacking service we give to our veterans. My own father, though he died of ailments associated with old age, carried with him the scars of his own service — I am convinced he had an undiagnosed case of PTSD, and some of his behaviors, subtle though they were, testified to that.
On this Memorial Day, let us remember all those who served, the dead, the wounded, and the “walking wounded”. Also remember those who did not serve in a military context, yet were part of the reason for your existence and the life you lead today. They all deserve to be remembered.
In closing, let me leave you with something I wrote at the conclusion of my novel Suburban Vampire: Redemption Part II: Leviathan. It wasn’t written specifically for this day, but it certainly works for it:
On an early fall morning, I get up early to see the sun rise over Mt. Hood. I watch as the mountain hides the warming rays, which then burst forth in glorious triumph over the dark. I think of all those we’ve lost, and I remember not how, but why, they died, and I resolve never to forget them. They will live on, in stories, in pictures, in our hearts. The more I think of it, that’s the best any of us can ask for in this life – to be remembered. I remember, and I am thankful.
Franklin Posner 