Full Version: Memorial Day
Dedicated to all soldiers living and dead and to the memory of my Uncle George who died over Germany in WWII.
I never got to meet him, he was only 23--
But part of him goes on and on and lives inside of me.
Unlearned Lesson
Memorial Day
Of every year
The little valiant
Flags appear
On every fallen
Soldier's grave--
Symbol of what
Each died to save.
And we who see
And still have breath--
Are we no wiser
For their death?
~Dorothy Brown Thompson~
Ohhh Booky!!! I'm soooo glad you started this thread!!
In memory of Lt. Taylor the name on my silver memorial bracelet that I wore in the 6th grade, and still have. He died in Vietnam in 1969.
In memory of Lt. Taylor the name on my silver memorial bracelet that I wore in the 6th grade, and still have. He died in Vietnam in 1969.
QUOTE (leanne0721 @ May 22 2009, 05:04 PM) 
Ohhh Booky!!! I'm soooo glad you started this thread!!
In memory of Lt. Taylor the name on my silver memorial bracelet that I wore in the 6th grade, and still have. He died in Vietnam in 1969.
In memory of Lt. Taylor the name on my silver memorial bracelet that I wore in the 6th grade, and still have. He died in Vietnam in 1969.
I also wore a POW bracelet as a kid. The name on it was Capt. William Crow. When he finally did return home, I remember getting a letter from him with a picture of him and his family. Thank you for bringing back this memory.
In loving memory of my Dad, who passed away July 1st last year. He was 84 and was a World War II and Korean War Veteran. And he was also my hero. 
QUOTE (Texasgirl @ May 22 2009, 08:10 PM)
In loving memory of my Dad, who passed away July 1st last year. He was 84 and was a World War II and Korean War Veteran. And he was also my hero.
Please accept my condolences. I'm so glad you had him for so many years--although I'm sure you feel it still wasn't enough!
QUOTE (Bookworm56 @ May 22 2009, 08:08 PM)
I also wore a POW bracelet as a kid. The name on it was Capt. William Crow. When he finally did return home, I remember getting a letter from him with a picture of him and his family. Thank you for bringing back this memory.
Omg, I had a POW bracelet too. My cousin's brother in law had been in Vietnam, & during that time I remember going to her house to help stuff envelopes to do a mailing to the soldiers. I was pretty young but I kept that bracelet for a long time. I don't know what happened to it. " War is not healthy for children & other living things " remember that poster?
QUOTE (binsky @ May 22 2009, 10:19 PM)
Omg, I had a POW bracelet too. My cousin's brother in law had been in Vietnam, & during that time I remember going to her house to help stuff envelopes to do a mailing to the soldiers. I was pretty young but I kept that bracelet for a long time. I don't know what happened to it. " War is not healthy for children & other living things " remember that poster?
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and also:
QUOTE (Bookworm56 @ May 22 2009, 10:27 PM)
and also:
OMG!
In memory of My Dad & Uncle's who served in WWII...and my Uncle who served in the Korean war...and my Cousin who was in Vietnam.
And a special thanks to all those who are over seas right now...fighting for our Freedoms!
We will never forget!!!
And a special thanks to all those who are over seas right now...fighting for our Freedoms!
We will never forget!!!
A story I found that someone wrote about Arlington...
Arlington National Cemetery
June 22, 2007
USA as flag
It is a beautiful but sad place, our National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. It is where America buries its dead soldiers. It is where the price of our freedom is perhaps the most obvious. The graves are well marked, the markers standing as if to create the final military formation. The lines perfect in every direction.
However, there is another part of this cemetery that is never seen. It comes alive every night, unannounced and unseen, rain or shine. It begins when the last rays of the sun cast the long shadows of the evening, when the families and the tourists have left and the quiet returns. An eerie mist forming in the lower areas adds a foreboding atmosphere to the gentle slopes. The white crosses appear somewhat brighter in those moments before the sun drops behind the horizon, and then it is night.
The meetings start slowly. The spirits of the dead rise from the grass-covered confines of their graves, their torn and mutilated bodies left behind them. It is their time again, The darkness of the park becomes alive, but only for the dead. These are secret meetings, attended only by the members of this special group. This is the time when they are allowed, for a few brief moments of time, to be whole, as their god intended them to be. A time to share the lives they once lived with others. A time to share the things that only the dead can share.
They gather in small groups around the grounds, silently repeating the never-ending rituals learned so long ago. A silent whisper of the chants learned by all young soldiers trying so hard to be like the men they followed, veterans all, from all of the wars. Here are the men who gave up their lives for a country that has seemingly forgotten them and the battles they fought. Here are the soldiers going to the meetings that never end, to join in the discussions that are never answered.
The spirits move silently across the fields, not hampered by the monuments erected to their memories by a once caring nation. A few pause as they near the lone soldier guarding The Tomb. They offer a moment of silent prayer, a soft hand salute to their unknown comrade, then move along. Death has a strange effect upon those that earned it.
There is no rank here. Death is the leveler, the common denominator.
Were you allowed to listen to the conversations here, you would hear talk of musketry and sea battles, air wars and trenches, and valor and prison camps. All told with the stark realism of life as only they could know it. Gone are the terrible sounds that accompanied those battles, the explosions and screams live only in their memories, never to be forgotten by those that endured them.
The souls gathering here are aware of the modern world. New arrivals keep them informed at these gatherings. The concern, and it flows throughout the cemetery, is that people still have not learned the secrets of living together in peace.
Donald Purvis
Retired Sergeant Major, US Army
http://www.usa-patriotism.com/stories/arlington-01.htm
Arlington National Cemetery
June 22, 2007
USA as flag
It is a beautiful but sad place, our National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. It is where America buries its dead soldiers. It is where the price of our freedom is perhaps the most obvious. The graves are well marked, the markers standing as if to create the final military formation. The lines perfect in every direction.
However, there is another part of this cemetery that is never seen. It comes alive every night, unannounced and unseen, rain or shine. It begins when the last rays of the sun cast the long shadows of the evening, when the families and the tourists have left and the quiet returns. An eerie mist forming in the lower areas adds a foreboding atmosphere to the gentle slopes. The white crosses appear somewhat brighter in those moments before the sun drops behind the horizon, and then it is night.
The meetings start slowly. The spirits of the dead rise from the grass-covered confines of their graves, their torn and mutilated bodies left behind them. It is their time again, The darkness of the park becomes alive, but only for the dead. These are secret meetings, attended only by the members of this special group. This is the time when they are allowed, for a few brief moments of time, to be whole, as their god intended them to be. A time to share the lives they once lived with others. A time to share the things that only the dead can share.
They gather in small groups around the grounds, silently repeating the never-ending rituals learned so long ago. A silent whisper of the chants learned by all young soldiers trying so hard to be like the men they followed, veterans all, from all of the wars. Here are the men who gave up their lives for a country that has seemingly forgotten them and the battles they fought. Here are the soldiers going to the meetings that never end, to join in the discussions that are never answered.
The spirits move silently across the fields, not hampered by the monuments erected to their memories by a once caring nation. A few pause as they near the lone soldier guarding The Tomb. They offer a moment of silent prayer, a soft hand salute to their unknown comrade, then move along. Death has a strange effect upon those that earned it.
There is no rank here. Death is the leveler, the common denominator.
Were you allowed to listen to the conversations here, you would hear talk of musketry and sea battles, air wars and trenches, and valor and prison camps. All told with the stark realism of life as only they could know it. Gone are the terrible sounds that accompanied those battles, the explosions and screams live only in their memories, never to be forgotten by those that endured them.
The souls gathering here are aware of the modern world. New arrivals keep them informed at these gatherings. The concern, and it flows throughout the cemetery, is that people still have not learned the secrets of living together in peace.
Donald Purvis
Retired Sergeant Major, US Army
http://www.usa-patriotism.com/stories/arlington-01.htm
QUOTE (timeless @ May 23 2009, 05:37 PM)
A story I found that someone wrote about Arlington...
Arlington National Cemetery
June 22, 2007
USA as flag
It is a beautiful but sad place, our National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. It is where America buries its dead soldiers. It is where the price of our freedom is perhaps the most obvious. The graves are well marked, the markers standing as if to create the final military formation. The lines perfect in every direction.
However, there is another part of this cemetery that is never seen. It comes alive every night, unannounced and unseen, rain or shine. It begins when the last rays of the sun cast the long shadows of the evening, when the families and the tourists have left and the quiet returns. An eerie mist forming in the lower areas adds a foreboding atmosphere to the gentle slopes. The white crosses appear somewhat brighter in those moments before the sun drops behind the horizon, and then it is night.
The meetings start slowly. The spirits of the dead rise from the grass-covered confines of their graves, their torn and mutilated bodies left behind them. It is their time again, The darkness of the park becomes alive, but only for the dead. These are secret meetings, attended only by the members of this special group. This is the time when they are allowed, for a few brief moments of time, to be whole, as their god intended them to be. A time to share the lives they once lived with others. A time to share the things that only the dead can share.
They gather in small groups around the grounds, silently repeating the never-ending rituals learned so long ago. A silent whisper of the chants learned by all young soldiers trying so hard to be like the men they followed, veterans all, from all of the wars. Here are the men who gave up their lives for a country that has seemingly forgotten them and the battles they fought. Here are the soldiers going to the meetings that never end, to join in the discussions that are never answered.
The spirits move silently across the fields, not hampered by the monuments erected to their memories by a once caring nation. A few pause as they near the lone soldier guarding The Tomb. They offer a moment of silent prayer, a soft hand salute to their unknown comrade, then move along. Death has a strange effect upon those that earned it.
There is no rank here. Death is the leveler, the common denominator.
Were you allowed to listen to the conversations here, you would hear talk of musketry and sea battles, air wars and trenches, and valor and prison camps. All told with the stark realism of life as only they could know it. Gone are the terrible sounds that accompanied those battles, the explosions and screams live only in their memories, never to be forgotten by those that endured them.
The souls gathering here are aware of the modern world. New arrivals keep them informed at these gatherings. The concern, and it flows throughout the cemetery, is that people still have not learned the secrets of living together in peace.
Donald Purvis
Retired Sergeant Major, US Army
http://www.usa-patriotism.com/stories/arlington-01.htm
Arlington National Cemetery
June 22, 2007
USA as flag
It is a beautiful but sad place, our National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. It is where America buries its dead soldiers. It is where the price of our freedom is perhaps the most obvious. The graves are well marked, the markers standing as if to create the final military formation. The lines perfect in every direction.
However, there is another part of this cemetery that is never seen. It comes alive every night, unannounced and unseen, rain or shine. It begins when the last rays of the sun cast the long shadows of the evening, when the families and the tourists have left and the quiet returns. An eerie mist forming in the lower areas adds a foreboding atmosphere to the gentle slopes. The white crosses appear somewhat brighter in those moments before the sun drops behind the horizon, and then it is night.
The meetings start slowly. The spirits of the dead rise from the grass-covered confines of their graves, their torn and mutilated bodies left behind them. It is their time again, The darkness of the park becomes alive, but only for the dead. These are secret meetings, attended only by the members of this special group. This is the time when they are allowed, for a few brief moments of time, to be whole, as their god intended them to be. A time to share the lives they once lived with others. A time to share the things that only the dead can share.
They gather in small groups around the grounds, silently repeating the never-ending rituals learned so long ago. A silent whisper of the chants learned by all young soldiers trying so hard to be like the men they followed, veterans all, from all of the wars. Here are the men who gave up their lives for a country that has seemingly forgotten them and the battles they fought. Here are the soldiers going to the meetings that never end, to join in the discussions that are never answered.
The spirits move silently across the fields, not hampered by the monuments erected to their memories by a once caring nation. A few pause as they near the lone soldier guarding The Tomb. They offer a moment of silent prayer, a soft hand salute to their unknown comrade, then move along. Death has a strange effect upon those that earned it.
There is no rank here. Death is the leveler, the common denominator.
Were you allowed to listen to the conversations here, you would hear talk of musketry and sea battles, air wars and trenches, and valor and prison camps. All told with the stark realism of life as only they could know it. Gone are the terrible sounds that accompanied those battles, the explosions and screams live only in their memories, never to be forgotten by those that endured them.
The souls gathering here are aware of the modern world. New arrivals keep them informed at these gatherings. The concern, and it flows throughout the cemetery, is that people still have not learned the secrets of living together in peace.
Donald Purvis
Retired Sergeant Major, US Army
http://www.usa-patriotism.com/stories/arlington-01.htm
My daughter, her husband and their two boys are in Washington DC this week on vacation. Yesterday they went to the Smithsonian and today they went to Arlington National Cemetery. Neither have been there before. My daughter is emailing me everyday to tell me about their trip. She told me this evening that the cemetery was very crowded. She also said it was very surreal. An endless sea of perfect rows of white headstones. An American flag at each one. I was there when I was a very young girl. I was born in Washington DC but we moved to Seattle when I was four. I would love to visit DC and go there again someday. They also went to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and watched the changing of the guards. She said it was a sight to see. The guards were Marines. My oldest son and child is a former Marine. He enlisted in '89 and left for bootcamp just three days after his high school graduation. You talk about hard on a Mom. I was a basket case. He spent several months in Samalia, then was based in King's Bay, Georgia. He's now a police officer in Texas. Anyway, my point is, I have such deep respect for our military. Present and former. I cry for all the men and women we have lost in wars. I cry for the families they left behind. I bleed red, white, and blue. I love this country and patriotism. May we all remember them this Memorial Day.
God Bless all who have served or are serving right now. We can honor all those who served, during all wartimes.....
From the now, back to past times that shaped our present.
My Dad (RIP), my Husband, Father in Law, Gandfather, cousins, friends, uncles, neighbors, and millions more..
My family, was all navy all the way, until my husband - who was Army Airborne Special Ops.
As one of my dear friends said to me yesterday, they are great people, who suffered a lot.
She too has so many on her family - even today. I have a neighbor who just returned from Iraq,
several neighbors on their 2nd or 3rd tour in their 40-s, and several friends who got back in the last few months.
One of my friends is still recovering from wounds suffered in Afghanistan in 2003. I have a long time friend who has served in more missions than
I could possibly count. A brave man and a Kind Hearted person.
It does take something - you don't know how you will find it.
My Dad passed away Easter 2004 and was buried 5 years ago this week at Bourne in MA. Military - I unwittingly ended up the director of the ceremony,
so I know what it takes to put your own feelings aside. My cousin Frank is also buried there.
My husband grabbed a huge bunch of fresh lilacs to bring.
My brother, an accomplished horn player, played taps on a coronet. Not a dry eye anywhere, even though my Dad served
back at Bikini Atoll......My Dad taught himself Russian and was at the Atomic Testing on board his submarine Operations Crossroads.
Today is the Day I chose long ago to remember my Dad especially.
He was a larger than life man, Born On Valentine's Day, Died on Easter, A Veteran, A world traveller and Scientist, helped put a man on the moon,
spoke at least a dozen languages fluently. He was funny, brilliant, and very calm in a real crisis. He Volunteered at the Red Cross Shelters in The Floida Keys during hurricanes, l
long after his own health made it impossible for him to walk 10 minutes without stopping to rest 20 minutes. He had a heart attack at 6, passed away, then returned to breathing
after he was thought and pronounced gone. His Mom was perhaps over protective of him after that - but I'm sure his 7 kids were part of why God brought him back,
reinforcing to me that no matter what anyone tells me, no matter where or hard I fall or fail, I'm here for a reason.
He had a Pioneering spirit bringing his family across the country by Wagon through MExico and back up to California.
He shared that spirit with those he was descended from - the Designer of the MayFlower,
A Revolutionary War Soldier who fought at the very beginning at the Bunker Hill, and many many more. I can't see a red sweater without thinking of him
and found out later we shared the same favorite colors - Red, White and Blue :-) I am both a Daughter of the American Revolution, and Part Native American.
I never forget that we are ALL here for a reason, ALL related. I love the USA.
My husband (The Gulf War - Army Airborne Special Ops) , my beloved Grandfather - who was also like a Dad to me Navy WWI, my Dad WWII, Father In Law between Korean and Vietnam, all were in war time. My Sweet cousin Frank was hit with Agent Orange and lived a long silent life and finally passed away. My cousin Paul (who has a birthday near to now) , a prolific artist, who *just* passed away served in WWII, stormed Normandy and also served in the Pacific during WWII. And then had 9 kids and was An Art Director in a big High School for 40 yrs. He left us recently. I saw him just before he passed.
I know so so so many who left the US to serve.
I'm not sure, if there are enough tissues in my house for just thinking of all the ones still over there,
still injured and messed up. But I know and I pray for ALL of them....
I love you Dad. <3
God Bless each and everyone one of those who served or are serving, and God Bless all of YOU for not only your strength, but your sisterhood.
Love,
MaryBeth
MB
I love that you wrote PEACE with this, AA.....
From the now, back to past times that shaped our present.
My Dad (RIP), my Husband, Father in Law, Gandfather, cousins, friends, uncles, neighbors, and millions more..
My family, was all navy all the way, until my husband - who was Army Airborne Special Ops.
As one of my dear friends said to me yesterday, they are great people, who suffered a lot.
She too has so many on her family - even today. I have a neighbor who just returned from Iraq,
several neighbors on their 2nd or 3rd tour in their 40-s, and several friends who got back in the last few months.
One of my friends is still recovering from wounds suffered in Afghanistan in 2003. I have a long time friend who has served in more missions than
I could possibly count. A brave man and a Kind Hearted person.
It does take something - you don't know how you will find it.
My Dad passed away Easter 2004 and was buried 5 years ago this week at Bourne in MA. Military - I unwittingly ended up the director of the ceremony,
so I know what it takes to put your own feelings aside. My cousin Frank is also buried there.
My husband grabbed a huge bunch of fresh lilacs to bring.
My brother, an accomplished horn player, played taps on a coronet. Not a dry eye anywhere, even though my Dad served
back at Bikini Atoll......My Dad taught himself Russian and was at the Atomic Testing on board his submarine Operations Crossroads.
Today is the Day I chose long ago to remember my Dad especially.
He was a larger than life man, Born On Valentine's Day, Died on Easter, A Veteran, A world traveller and Scientist, helped put a man on the moon,
spoke at least a dozen languages fluently. He was funny, brilliant, and very calm in a real crisis. He Volunteered at the Red Cross Shelters in The Floida Keys during hurricanes, l
long after his own health made it impossible for him to walk 10 minutes without stopping to rest 20 minutes. He had a heart attack at 6, passed away, then returned to breathing
after he was thought and pronounced gone. His Mom was perhaps over protective of him after that - but I'm sure his 7 kids were part of why God brought him back,
reinforcing to me that no matter what anyone tells me, no matter where or hard I fall or fail, I'm here for a reason.
He had a Pioneering spirit bringing his family across the country by Wagon through MExico and back up to California.
He shared that spirit with those he was descended from - the Designer of the MayFlower,
A Revolutionary War Soldier who fought at the very beginning at the Bunker Hill, and many many more. I can't see a red sweater without thinking of him
and found out later we shared the same favorite colors - Red, White and Blue :-) I am both a Daughter of the American Revolution, and Part Native American.
I never forget that we are ALL here for a reason, ALL related. I love the USA.
My husband (The Gulf War - Army Airborne Special Ops) , my beloved Grandfather - who was also like a Dad to me Navy WWI, my Dad WWII, Father In Law between Korean and Vietnam, all were in war time. My Sweet cousin Frank was hit with Agent Orange and lived a long silent life and finally passed away. My cousin Paul (who has a birthday near to now) , a prolific artist, who *just* passed away served in WWII, stormed Normandy and also served in the Pacific during WWII. And then had 9 kids and was An Art Director in a big High School for 40 yrs. He left us recently. I saw him just before he passed.
I know so so so many who left the US to serve.
I'm not sure, if there are enough tissues in my house for just thinking of all the ones still over there,
still injured and messed up. But I know and I pray for ALL of them....
I love you Dad. <3
God Bless each and everyone one of those who served or are serving, and God Bless all of YOU for not only your strength, but your sisterhood.
Love,
MaryBeth
MB
QUOTE (AA#1 @ May 23 2009, 10:48 AM)
In memory of My Dad & Uncle's who served in WWII...and my Uncle who served in the Korean war...and my Cousin who was in Vietnam.
And a special thanks to all those who are over seas right now...fighting for our Freedoms!
We will never forget!!!
And a special thanks to all those who are over seas right now...fighting for our Freedoms!
We will never forget!!!
I love that you wrote PEACE with this, AA.....
Antoher Story I found as we remember these special people...
Did You Stand?
I was sitting the other day in a crowded airport, waiting for a boarding call on my flight to Arizona.
As I sat there , I noticed an old man sitting across from me facing the large picture window that gave passengers a view of the runway. The history of a life of hardship traced the old mans eyes as they stared into the twilight of his years, and as I watched, I saw tears rolling from those ancient steel gray eyes, leaving a trail of sadness that tore at my heart. I got up and walked to him and asked if I could join him. Without even looking up to identify me, he nodded, and I sat down, feeling awkward but intensely drawn to him in compassion for his quiet tears.
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice you sitting here alone. Are you ok?" I asked.
There was a deafening silence suddenly between us, for what seemed a long time, and finally he spoke in a voice that was worn and weary with age."Did you stand when she walked by?" he asked.
I was confused by his question, and a bit taken off guard by the tone of his voice that sounded almost accusatory.
"I don't understand sir, , I answered."Did you stand when she walked by?" he asked again, staring straight into my eyes. "Who?" I asked him. But he turned away from me, staring again at the tarmac just outside our window.
I waited for an answer, but there was not going to be any. Our conversation was over it seemed, and I got up to leave, hearing the call to board that by this time, was welcome as an excuse to get out of an awkward situation.
I started walking away, but was troubled and torn by his question. I boarded my plane after clearing the gate, found my seat , and settled into it, looking back at the terminal I had just left. He was there as I had left him, sitting alone facing the tarmac.
I watched for several minutes, and in that time I noticed a number of people stop to visit with him, presumably to ask if he was ok, and then walk away, some of them shaking there heads, others just gone from view at a brisk pace. And still he sat , fixated on a plane that was resting about 300 yards away, surrounded by military personnel.
As I watched, a small procession of 6 men carried a flag draped coffin away from the plane to a waiting hearse, where they stood after the rear door of the black car had been closed and they offer a salute as the car slowly drove away. I looked back toward the window of the terminal, and instantly my tears nearly blinded me when I saw the old man I had been talking to also offering a salute, but from his wheel chair now parked next to the window.
Since our craft had used a rolling stair gantry for passenger access, I got up, and made my way to the door of the plane, and got off. I walked deliberately, heading for the terminal, making my way through the crowds to the old man at the window. I walked up beside him, faced the plane as yet another coffin draped with Old Glory was placed in a waiting hearse, and I slowly raised my hand in salute, allowing my hand to drop only when the hearse rolled out of view around a security fence.
I turned slowly to the old man who by now was looking solidly into my soul with eyes of countless memories.
"I know her name now sir, and I stood when she walked by."
He was visibly moved, and he said to me in quavering voice ,"Thank you sir . . . for what you did. My greatest wish these days is to stand again for her, but I can't."
I gave my legs in '43 and my oldest son in '67 to that Lady, so she could keep walking. It hurts when no one cares that she walks by.
I missed my flight that day, but my heart and soul found wings to the heavens on the words of an 90 year old man who dared to share a heart full of memories with me and dared to remind me why Old Glory stills waves as the beacon of Hope in a lost world.
By Robert VanDerslice
All of your stories that you have written are very heartfelt and , I salute them all for their service to the country I love...
Did You Stand?
I was sitting the other day in a crowded airport, waiting for a boarding call on my flight to Arizona.
As I sat there , I noticed an old man sitting across from me facing the large picture window that gave passengers a view of the runway. The history of a life of hardship traced the old mans eyes as they stared into the twilight of his years, and as I watched, I saw tears rolling from those ancient steel gray eyes, leaving a trail of sadness that tore at my heart. I got up and walked to him and asked if I could join him. Without even looking up to identify me, he nodded, and I sat down, feeling awkward but intensely drawn to him in compassion for his quiet tears.
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice you sitting here alone. Are you ok?" I asked.
There was a deafening silence suddenly between us, for what seemed a long time, and finally he spoke in a voice that was worn and weary with age."Did you stand when she walked by?" he asked.
I was confused by his question, and a bit taken off guard by the tone of his voice that sounded almost accusatory.
"I don't understand sir, , I answered."Did you stand when she walked by?" he asked again, staring straight into my eyes. "Who?" I asked him. But he turned away from me, staring again at the tarmac just outside our window.
I waited for an answer, but there was not going to be any. Our conversation was over it seemed, and I got up to leave, hearing the call to board that by this time, was welcome as an excuse to get out of an awkward situation.
I started walking away, but was troubled and torn by his question. I boarded my plane after clearing the gate, found my seat , and settled into it, looking back at the terminal I had just left. He was there as I had left him, sitting alone facing the tarmac.
I watched for several minutes, and in that time I noticed a number of people stop to visit with him, presumably to ask if he was ok, and then walk away, some of them shaking there heads, others just gone from view at a brisk pace. And still he sat , fixated on a plane that was resting about 300 yards away, surrounded by military personnel.
As I watched, a small procession of 6 men carried a flag draped coffin away from the plane to a waiting hearse, where they stood after the rear door of the black car had been closed and they offer a salute as the car slowly drove away. I looked back toward the window of the terminal, and instantly my tears nearly blinded me when I saw the old man I had been talking to also offering a salute, but from his wheel chair now parked next to the window.
Since our craft had used a rolling stair gantry for passenger access, I got up, and made my way to the door of the plane, and got off. I walked deliberately, heading for the terminal, making my way through the crowds to the old man at the window. I walked up beside him, faced the plane as yet another coffin draped with Old Glory was placed in a waiting hearse, and I slowly raised my hand in salute, allowing my hand to drop only when the hearse rolled out of view around a security fence.
I turned slowly to the old man who by now was looking solidly into my soul with eyes of countless memories.
"I know her name now sir, and I stood when she walked by."
He was visibly moved, and he said to me in quavering voice ,"Thank you sir . . . for what you did. My greatest wish these days is to stand again for her, but I can't."
I gave my legs in '43 and my oldest son in '67 to that Lady, so she could keep walking. It hurts when no one cares that she walks by.
I missed my flight that day, but my heart and soul found wings to the heavens on the words of an 90 year old man who dared to share a heart full of memories with me and dared to remind me why Old Glory stills waves as the beacon of Hope in a lost world.
By Robert VanDerslice
All of your stories that you have written are very heartfelt and , I salute them all for their service to the country I love...
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