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Forever Young:
SSGT Thomas Henry Laird, "Air Apaches", 500th Bomb Sqdn, 345th Bomb Group, 5th Air Force, MIA/KIA October 16, 1943, Wewak, New Guinea
PFC Robert Hardeman, 2nd Marines, KIA July 2, 1944, Saipan.
Mom's oldest brother; mother-in-law's only brother.
To read how a small town in rural Georgia dealt with the deaths of three of its sons during WWII over 80 years ago; emotions repeated all over America.
https://tinyurl.com/2e3j3cnj
Over the years there has been a tendency to conflate gratitude to all who served with those killed in the line of service. This is not veteran's day. This is for remembrance of those who paid the ultimate sacrifice in service of country. There is and should be a difference. Gil

Remembrance indeed! After returning from Vietnam I went to visit my buddies while on leave. I was saddened when learning that some had not returned as I had. The shock of having their parent come to the door with that news was sobering.
I spend every Memorial Day thinking of them!
Karl

Well said, both of the comments are so appropriate. the other Gil...

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.

Forever young. I had a chance to visit Punchbowl last week, a somber snapshot of the war in the Pacific.

Dwight Henry Ford, Iwo Jima ,23 Feb 1945, rests in the punch bowl. Thanks for visiting him, Craig.
Mike

https://www.trapshooters.com/threads/memorial-day-weekend.489513/

Pics of The Punchbowl post #12

One of the most touching tributes and account over the years here has been the story of Gene's family's loss. I expect to see his post soon. Gil

Friday, to begin this weekend, my wife and I spent some time at our local cemetery (the high plains can be a lonely land). While we were there a group made up of old and young (the VFW and the Boy Scouts) moved among the graves placing flags.

Today we went back with the grandkids. Our conversations were intentional as we talked with them about service and sacrifice, about those who gave their lives to protect our freedoms. We had immediate confirmation of the impact of our efforts. As we drove through the cemetery on the way out, from the backseat came, "Stop, Papa. Stop." One of them had spotted a casualty of the prairie wind. A flag was laying on the ground. The oldest hopped out and reset it. Then they saw another. Soon all three with picking up fallen flags and replacing them. I was one proud Papa.

When all was right, we finished our time at our local "Corridor of Honor".




“Many with their last measure of life.”

From generation to generation, may their sacrifice be never forgotten.

Will put up these posters tomorrow on the National Mall - the one to my father at the WWII memorial under the Airborne bronze and the other three to friends of mine at the Vietnam Memorial. It is cold in DC this year....58 degrees with a chill rain falling. Feels like Belgium or the Central Highland in the mountains in July. Hardly what you'd expect so I've wrapped the posters in plastic. Gene