To be remembered holds power and goodness. It can be as simple as being called by name when you were certain “they won’t remember me.” To be remembered is to celebrate worth, value, and life is not wasted.

Memorial Day, and the weekend that surrounds it, is largely a forgotten day. Or maybe I should say a “misremembered” day. It is often entered into as a long weekend, the unofficial beginning of summer, a day or weekend of cookouts and time spent by the water. There are sales on furniture, clothes, cars, and, well most anything that can be consumed has a special “Memorial Day Sale” promotion.

Somewhere along the way we have made Memorial Day and all that goes with it as a time to celebrate, and so we misremember it by thanking veterans and saluting our troops, and quickly go on to whatever else is more important to our long weekend. While there is nothing wrong with thanking our veterans for their service and as civilians saluting our troops, that is not what Memorial Day is about.

It is a day of memory and when we remember we honor. It is a day to observe and not celebrate. We do not celebrate the dead, unless of course we are celebrating the life they lived and the lives they loved.

Who do you remember on this day? I remember Bob DeLoach, who grew up with his brothers and sisters on a farm, miles outside of the small town of Eatonton. Uncle Bob was the little brother to my grandfather. Unlike my granddaddy, when Uncle Bob was old enough he left the farm for other opportunities. Like many other young men of his generation, his opportunities narrowed and was soon drafted into the army, trained in the infantry, sent to England, landed in France, marched through Germany, and was killed in action on February 15, 1945.

I have several of Bob’s “V-Mails” that he sent to my grandparents when he was overseas. A V-Mail, “Victory Mail,” was a small copied form of an original letter that could be censored and redacted before the copy reached the intended recipients. His letters were simple and at times sweet. He would often write and ask about my daddy, who was just two years old at the time. In one V-Mail he penned that he sure would like my grandmother to send him some pecans when she gets the time. He would briefly share thoughts about the war itself, but not in grandiose or poetic ways. Bob would simply write about the mud and the tents and the sound of bullets and bombs buzzing overhead. He would write about looking forward to coming home, closing with phrases like “I’ll be seeing you soon I hope.”

In nearly all of his letters he wrote about how special it was to receive a letter from home – to be remembered. I have a son serving in the Army and I know that during his basic training there is nothing more important for him than to receive an old-fashioned letter from his wife, his mother, or me. To be remembered.

On Memorial Day I will probably use this day off from work to cut my grass. I will no doubt go shopping for something, whether it is for groceries or something I think I need from the hardware store. Maybe Amy and I will go to the pool and hang out with some friends. I will display my flag on our doorpost.

I will also remember and give thanks for a life that was, and now lives on in memory. Who will you remember and what will you do because you remember? May we all choose to live more gratefully and considerately with one another.

In the rising of the sun and in its going down,

we remember them;

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,

we remember them;

In the warmth of the sun and the peace of summer,

we remember them;

In the rustling of the leaves and the beauty of autumn,

we remember them;

In the beginning of the year and when it ends;

we remember them;

When we are weary and in need of strength,

we remember them;

When we are lost and sick at heart,

we remember them;

When we have joys we yearn to share,

we remember them;

So long as we live, they too shall live,

for they are now a part of us,

as we remember them.

“Jewish Remembrance”

 

Gratefully,

Greg