Memorial Day
I grew up with the haunting memories of Vietnam. Dad was given his Purple Heart when his men’s families got theirs. I was fortunate that my dad lived. Not because I wouldn’t have been born. I would’ve either way. He was the stepfather who never adopted me but raised me until he died beside me in 2019. He more than earned the title of dad.
I learned about the brave who fought a war that should’ve never been and gave their lives for. All who take their oath to our Constitution give their lives even if they survive their service. Service changes a person in both good and bad ways.
Dad saw himself heading down the road to prison or death. He enlisted in The Marine Corps at 17 years old in 1964 with the permission of his father, a World War II vet. He learned about Vietnam in San Diego when he got his orders. He recounted that he was aboard ship, not boat, as I was constantly reminded, headed home after his first tour when it landed back in Vietnam. He was reupped. There was a war going on. His country needed him.
He promptly went AWOL in a war zone where he stood out as a Polish American who didn’t speak Vietnamese. The MPs easily captured him and put him in the brig. He remarked that they were great guys who totally understood his situation. How couldn’t they? They were in the same war. His country needed him so dad was promptly released after he saw the foolishness in not continuing to fight with his men. He could’ve been killed without them near.
It wasn’t long after that he was shot through his calf. His men carried him, attending to his wounds through the jungle to the nearest medic. He was told that he’d never walk again. Then he learned that his men were all killed in action on the same day. He lived with survivor’s guilt. He also walked with a slight limp but could always easily outrun me.
In 2008, I had the distinct honor to visit the National Mall and Arlington National Cemetery with my mom. We visited each monument while remembering our family members and those who had served in that war. We greeted our brave and their families as only we can. We smiled through the tears and hugged each other or squeezed hands while nodding. You made it home alive. We are so happy, proud and grateful that you made it to the home front. Not all do. We mourn those who didn’t while appreciating those who did.
At The Wall we ran our fingers across dad’s men’s names while reading them aloud and praying for them with dad on the phone. He thanked us for remembering his men and praying for them when he could not. It’s just what family does for family. They saved my dad’s life. They along with all who honorably served are family.
Memorial Day is my sister’s birthday. Happy birthday, Rhoda! I love you! While we celebrated her birthday, it was the one holiday where he recognized his own service. He would pour one out for those he lost. Since I don’t drink, I pour my coffee out for dad, his men and all who served.
I pray that all of those serving our beloved nation come home safe so that we can meet again on the home front. We will hug, squeeze each other’s hands, smile through the tears while nodding that we understand. You made it home. We are happy, proud and grateful that you are alive when others are not.
We will then pour one out for those who didn’t come home. We will keep their memories in our hearts and souls for eternity because we understand and we remember. We are family. We are alive. Nothing else matters. Not today.
Thank you to everyone who served and their families. As family, I understand that
Every life matters, especially yours.
God bless America and especially Her people.
