On Memorial Day

The end of the long Memorial Day weekend, the actual day of remembrance, broke here in Texas with the threat of yet more severe storms and flooding.  Some folks, rightly so, have expressed dismay and more, over the commercialization of this holiday, how it detracts from remembering the sacrifices made by those who served and did not return home numbered amongst the living.

I did not serve.  Though I wed one who did.  Two more of my best friends served and both saw combat, coming home to continue their lives while some they knew did not.  That is a burden I am glad I do not share.  I consider myself blessed, that I have not lost anyone dear to me to war.

My father served in WWII, as did his brother, though neither in this country's forces.  Dad, in the RMN, and Uncle Russell in the Somerset Light Infantry in North Africa.  The closest Dad ever came to combat was once when a ship of theirs over the horizon, lobbed some shells in their direction, or when they took target practice at a box kit flying off the stern of their vessel...  For Uncle Russell, it was different, though I never got the chance to ask him about it, nor did I know then how to ask.

Today is not about the barbecues, that was Saturday, our weekly BBQ get-together.  It is not a day to voice one's personal opinions on this country's overseas entanglements right or wrong.  Instead, simply remember those who gave their lives in the service of this country, and be grateful that there still people willing to risk that, for all of us.