Week after week as I delivered my paper route during the Vietnam war, the casualty list would come out. Every week, more were killed and wounded. But it took on a different meaning when the oldest son of my parents neighbor three houses away was killed in action when he covered a Viet Cong grenade with his body to save others on patrol with him. He came home in a flag covered casket, and his parents were devastated. My Mom told me and my next door buddy we should walk over there to pay a condolence call, and we nervously did, not really knowing what to say. I'll never forget the look on his mother's face.
I was in college when my Grandmother showed me a stack of post cards and letters she received nearly every week from her youngest brother while he served in the Army during WWII. Then the letters stopped, and were replaced by a series of Western Union Telegrams from the War Dept. At first, they informed her he was missing in action. A few more informed her he was still missing, and there was an investigation. No details. This went on for a few weeks as I recall. Then another telegram that informed her he was killed in action, and the investigation said eyewitnesses had seen his position obliterated by a direct hit from a bomb. No remains were recovered. There was no body to bury. So on Decoration Day, as Memorial Day used to be called, my Grandmother always went to the cemetery to put flowers on her family members graves. All but the one that wasn't there.
I knew my Grandmother's baby brother was killed during WWII, but didn't know the circumstances until she showed me those letters and telegrams.
Years later, when my nephew was in college, he was working the butcher counter at a local grocery store. An elderly lady customer often stared at him, and he didn't know why. One day, she finally spoke, and said he looked exactly like her fiancee, who was killed in WWII. When she said his name, my nephew recognized that it was his Great-Grandmothers brother.
Memorial Day is every day for some people who live with big holes in their hearts. The rest of us need to be reminded of it, and what it means.
