Tomorrow we observe Memorial Day in the United States. According to an article on the history of this holiday, it was created to honor the men and women who died while serving in the U.S. military https://www.history.com/topics/holidays/memorial-day-history This came immediately after the Civil War in 1865 which “claimed more lives than any conflict in U.S. history and required the establishment of the country’s first national cemeteries.

By the late 1860s, Americans in various towns and cities had begun holding springtime tributes to these countless fallen soldiers, decorating their graves with flowers and reciting prayers.“

As a Southerner, I’ve heard a lot about the Civil War. In the area where I live, there are nearby battlefields, historic markers along the roadways, and homes that still fly Confederate flags. Growing up, I didn’t like history classes and mostly learned the facts to pass the tests. I did like hearing Daddy and his brothers talk about serving in WW II, but most of what they shared was about being in foreign lands. Men in that era didn’t tell the details of war, what it was like to face battle as a young soldier. Later, I paid more attention to the details of the Vietnam War since I saw reels of the conflict on the evening news and had older male cousins serving. I came to know what a draft number meant.

But what I didn’t know was how the Vietnam War, or any other, personally impacted families. That is until I met my friend, Pam in ninth grade. Our two middle schools came together to form our high school. I remember getting to know her through mutual friends who sat together in the cafeteria. Eventually, we became close friends, going to each other’s houses and having long talks on the phone. Later, when we got our licenses, we advanced to ‘riding around’ the hometown hangouts– Hardee’s and Little Mint.

At some point in getting to know, Pam, I learned that she had an older brother, Jerry who was a Marine and killed in Vietnam. Over the years of our friendship, I heard more of the story, of how it impacted her family. She remembered seeing the Marine who walked to their front door.

“My mother knew why he was there,” Pam told me. “I still remember her shriek when he delivered the news that Jerry had been killed in battle.”

Pam described the shocking unreality of this news, her older brother, her hero, gone. She recounted hearing her parents emotional voices behind their closed bedroom door and the tension in their house. Pam was in sixth grade, old enough to understand the finality of losing her brother, but at an age when it’s hard to identify the intense feelings that become buried inside.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve thought about how Jerry’s death impacted her family. At a time when we were growing into adolescence, she had a terrible loss. My biggest concern in 6th grade was writing plays about how unfairly I was treated in my family–the beginning of me raising my ‘middle-child-syndrome’ flag. As the middle of three daughters, I’d always wanted an older brother; my male cousins were the closest to that. Pam described Jerry, as that older, brawny, big-bear kind of defender that I would have loved. Years later, when Pam and her family met some of Jerry’s comrades, she heard about how brave and strong Jerry was on the battlefield. Meeting those soldiers who were the last to see Jerry, helped Pam and her siblings in healing from the tragedy that happened so many years ago.

Last week, I visited her and was touched by her display honoring Jerry. His photograph in his dress uniform was on her mantle, flanked by an American flag and other festive red, white, and blue decorations for Memorial Day.

I commented on her tribute to her brother.

“I want my grandsons to know about their Great Uncle,” she told me. “I tell them how brave he was.”

I’m glad Pam has shared this story with me over the years. It’s easy to forget about the military service of men and women, when you don’t have family serving and aren’t part of a military town. For Pam, the sacrifice of these soldiers, and their families, is very real. It’s a reminder to me to stop and honor those who’ve given their lives.

Blessings to you all on this Memorial Day weekend, and especially to those who’ve served and all who have sacrificed.

Connie