A Day To Remember

"...gather around their sacred remains and garland the passionless mounds above them with choicest flowers of springtime....let us in this solemn presence renew our pledges to aid and assist those whom they have left among us as sacred charges upon the Nation's gratitude,--the soldier's and sailor's widow and orphan."

--General John Logan, General Order No. 11, 5 May 1868 We are getting ready to head out to spend the holiday weekend with family. But, before leaving, I feel compelled to take a moment and write about what this weekend means. It seems to me that the "Memorial" in Memorial Day has often been ignored by too many of us who are beneficiaries of those who have given the ultimate sacrifice. Maybe my view is a bit different based on my husband's career choice, however this holiday has become much more to me during the past few years than a day off of work or a day which is all about picnics and ballgames. It will never be that simplistic again.

Memorial Day is not a day to honor war, but a day to honor the brave men and women who gave their lives in those conflicts and wars for the sake of others. It seems to me that the day is not observed by most as it should be, to actively remember our ancestors, our family members, our loved ones, our neighbors, and our friends who have given the ultimate sacrifice. The day does not need to be solemn or gloomy, but please take a moment to stop and honor America's fallen heroes and their families this Memorial Day.

No, Freedom Isn't Free

By CDR Kelly Strong, USCG (Ret).

I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
And then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.

I heard the sound of taps one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That taps had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.