Memorial Day’s purpose gets lost in the hustle and bustle of enjoyment of an extra work free day in our calendar. And I admit that in our own family that happens.
Mark, in his visit yesterday, recalled our annual family trip to the mountain refuge of which we were a part for a weekend of hiking and fishing and paintball wars and a snack table filled with absolute dietary No No’s and to which no children or grownups had restrictions imposed.
It was our way of saying good bye to long winters and hello to warm sunny days to come. Today’s text threads are full of pictures and memories of that adventure, and once again we revel in the memories of West Virginia.
But memories of Memorial Day in my childhood were different. When I was about 6 years old, a dark, military vehicle pulled up to our house to tell my parents that our brother, Joe, had been killed in New Guinea in the South Pacific.. We grieved without any physical evidence of death, and indeed, we waited long after conflict ended to be able to inter our loved one.
So, for me, while enjoying a carefree, fun filled holiday, there is a part of me that always goes back to remembering at what price that holiday exists. So, tomorrow, whatever and wherever you celebrate, thank God for your freedom to do so, and the costs that can never be honored enough.
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