Only a month late. Our Memorial Day weekend was a good one this year.
We started out watching the parade downtown.
And besides the fun of a parade and the ages of our kids, the fact that we love our city and got coffee from a favorite coffee shop … this Memorial Day weekend was really different for me. I remember standing as these men and women passed down the street in uniform and seeing my Grandpa in formation. I pictured my brothers carrying flags and riffles, I saw my son marching in front of me. I saw Aaron in those crowds and I was so thankful.
I tend to shy away from political topics on any level. I just don’t love politics. But I do understand their place, corrupt as they can be. None of that mattered that Saturday morning as I looked in the eyes of the men who served this country, who saw horrible things and returned home to Norman Rockwell’s version of America. The dichotomy of that situation must haunt some of them, still today. I saw in their faces: pride, life, wisdom. I saw in their eyes and the wrinkles that they collected: love, laughter, generations.
I saw sacrifice and I stood there as a bystander on the side of the road clapping behind my children as they waved flags, unaware of where this world has already been. Of where this world is undoubtedly headed again – probably in their lifetime.
I think of the generations after World War II and how 2 or 3 later, the shock and memorial of it all just isn’t a part of our every day life. My kids weren’t born when 9/11 happened, they only have our memories as an account.
And I had to wonder … is that enough? Is it right that if it’s not our everyday reality, it isn’t one at all?
It was a good weekend, like I said, but a hard one. It was heavy and I felt it and it was so important.
It lingered in the air for a while, I struggled through my first pass at the recap and anger was more a part of the equation than trying to understand what just happened. The realization. The importance of not being passive.
We ended our weekend with friends at their new property. Hay fields, baby turtles, decrepit buildings. We ended this really hard weekend with hope. In the midst of something we could obviously see needed rehabilitation – we planted ourselves as a people group and made something from nothing.
We ended this weekend the only way that mattered: together.
God Bless America.