For the last seven years, we’ve had a tradition on the Sunday evening before Memorial Day. We start at the Tidal Basin and walk the monuments in DC. We first pass the WWII Memorial, then Vietnam, the Lincoln Memorial, circling through the Korean War Memorial, FDR and closing our walk at the Jefferson on the way back to the Tidal Basin. It has become a tradition that dozens of families now join us for.
Then the next day – no matter what is going on – we call my dad and thank him for his military service. We buried my father in Arlington earlier this month and this year no call was made, but I did reflect on him constantly throughout the day. I thought about going to Arlington to visit his grave. While I wanted to, there was a part that didn’t and this part of me won the moment and the day. I haven’t been there since burying him several weeks ago.
My dad never talked about his service. He served in two hot wars and one cold one – earning a purple heart, a couple of bronze stars including one with Valor, the Legion of Merit and many other honors over a lifetime of service – all of which I only really learned about after his death. As we made final edits to his obituary, we only found these metals and awards after much searching. They were stuffed in a box stored in the garage. Several men who had served under his command attended his service and recounted stories – probably more in that day than I heard in a lifetime from my dad.
Yesterday, I received an email that quoted John McCrae’s 1915 poem – In Flanders Fields:
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our places; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly.
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
I reflected on visiting Flanders Fields when I lived in Europe and being moved by the Last Post ceremony at Menin Gate in Leper, Belgium. I reflected on the sacred experience of visiting The Netherlands American Cemetery outside of Maastricht and other experiences I’ve had visiting hallowed grounds around the world.
I wish I would have visited Arlington today with some poppies.
