When I was a child, I remember my Grandma calling Memorial Day Decoration Day. She traveled out to the cemetery, named after her husbands family, with a flat of geraniums, ivy, soil, and fertilizer, to plant the urns of our relatives some of whom were our family’s war dead. A Union kepi hat from Ohio hung on the wall of my grandparents cottage together with a rifle from the Civil War. I was too young at the time to realize the significance of Decoration Day but as the years passed it became clear to me what the day was reserved for
My Grandmother was born in 1901, a mere 36 years after the end of the Civil War when veterans of that war were still walking among us. Those were solemn days, those May 30th days. In my Grandma’s case the day began with morning Mass, an afternoon decorating graves and a lingering evening in quiet reflection.
As a young girl I first participated in our local events marking the day by marching in the parade with my Brownie Troop; later my Girl Scout Troop; and later still as a marching band member in junior and senior high school. The march was halted midway through town to toss a Memorial wreath onto the local harbor then the mile and a half procession resumed to the cemetery where a benediction was followed by the recitation of the Gettysburg Address, a twenty-one gun salute, and the playing of echoed taps.
In 1971, Congress, in its infinite wisdom, decided to create the Uniform Monday Holiday Act which has turned a day meant to honor our war dead into a day that has no significance to most Americans other than a long holiday weekend to celebrate the “kickoff to summer”. Businesses of all stripes, cars, mattresses, clothing, sporting goods, you name it, invite us to come in and take advantage of their blowout sales. The day has been stripped of its former solemnity and call to remembrance in favor of rampant commercialism.
Even though there was a constant bombardment of commercial advertising and the day had been changed to a three day “holiday” weekend event I ensured my own children experienced it much the way I did. A march, a reflection, a wreath laying, a visit to the cemetery to hear a benediction and then lingering to clear some long dead soldier’s grave of weeds and wondering what his young lost life must have meant to those who loved him.
I moved back to my home town five years ago and have attended the local Memorial Day events since then but I am considering ending my attendance. Things have changed since those commemorations I remembered from my youth. The day’s events begin with a sparsely attended, early morning, gathering at the cemetery. Somewhat later in the morning an abbreviated march down the main street to the local band shell occurs. (Added to the “festivities” this year was the Chamber sponsored beer tent and a series of six concerts.)There is, as always a memorial wreath tossed into the harbor, a twenty-one gun salute, and a selection of patriotic songs played. Last year something shifted. The pastor who spoke mentioned the war dead but also invoked those emt’s, firemen, and police who lost their lives on 9/11. This year he included teachers and students who have died in school shootings, as well as other victims of the violence in our nation. Then there was the nod to our veterans, asking any who served to stand as their branch was called out.
Let me state that I have nothing but the utmost respect for anyone who dedicates their life in service to others. EMTs, firemen, police, teachers, doctors and nurses, psychiatrists, psychologists, and counselors who devote their lives to healing the mental trauma caused by war; PTs and OTs who work tirelessly to help those who have lost limbs to regain functional lives; scientists and engineers who dedicate their lives to advancing medicines and prosthetics to benefit our wounded veterans; and last, but definately not least, our veterans. Some of them struggle mightily with deep physical and psychological wounds. We lose 20+ of them a day to suicide and not enough resources in capital and human resources are set aside to aid them when they need it most. I have written of my veteran son’s own struggles here and there. But he and I agree on this, today is set aside for the commemoration of war dead. Those who shed their blood in service to this country. I do believe that when a veteran succumbs to suicide from ptsd, the effects of severe physical wounds, a life shortened by exposure to chemical agents, tbi, burn pits, or any other reason attributable to their participation in war, that they be included among our war dead. There ought to be some posthumous acknowledgement or recognition of their sacrifice, though while not on a battlefield, they are clearly casualties of the conflict. Even those awarded the Medal of Honor should, when their life ends, be given the honor afforded our war dead; for often they were the only surviving member of a unit who nearly died trying to save his brothers in arms and lived a lifetime wondering why.
I’m not sure how to process all of my feelings. Last year on May 30, I visited our local veterans park together with my daughter and her children. We laid a bouquet of spring lilacs at the memorial, read In Flanders Field, played taps via my phone, and prayed for an end to all war. Somehow our quiet ceremony meant more to me than what I had attended a few days prior. Maybe the answer is staring me in the face. I shouldn’t be feeling anger today but something that was once sacred has been corrupted and I’m mad as hell that our war dead are just an occassion to party and promote commerce.
I want to close by asking that when Memorial Day, May 30, 2018, dawns that you take a moment to remember and honor the service and ultimate sacrifice, of those who lost their young, promising, lives too soon. And pray that one day we as a nation will return solemnity to this day. Thank you.