It’s Sunday evening of Memorial Day Weekend as I write this, and hubby and I spent the day as we do each year – attending the local Memorial Day service at the cemetery and helping place small flags at the grave markers of veterans, and then watching the National Memorial Day Concert from Washington D.C. It’s a tradition I’ve come to love and appreciate as much as I do the Memorial Day parade watching and cook-outs my family did when I was growing up.
As I walked the grounds with my bundle of flags, I hoped someone was doing the same thing for my dad in Ohio. I paid special attention to those marked Korean War or Korean Conflict because I knew they would have been his companions, even if they didn’t actually serve side-by-side. I thought about how buffered or protected I’ve been from the real pain of this day. I have family and friends who’ve served, and I’ve worried and prayed for their safety, but I’ve never experienced a loss like a Gold Star family. That lack doesn’t bring a greater sense of relief, but deeper gratitude and respect.
Last year it was blazing hot, the sun baked our Carolina clay into brick. We’d taken hammers and screwdrivers to the cemetery to pound and wiggle holes for the flag staffs – we’d learned our lesson a couple years back when the wooden staffs threatened to snap when we attempted to push them into place! Today it was cold and rainy, and we wondered if the service would be postponed. We were relieved to see the line of parked cars as we approached the cemetery driveway. The small group of participants huddled under dripping trees and umbrellas and I overheard some express our same thought, Our servicemen and women work in all kinds of weather, how could we not put up with this to honor them. While the service was shortened, all the important elements were there: the raising and lowering of the flag to half-staff, the pledge, the gun salute, the benediction and recognition of Gold Star families, the playing of Taps. (Last year they shot a cannon!) The rain softened the ground so placing flags required only a steady hand and a steady push.
Several years ago, hubby and I spent a few hours at Ohio’s capitol building and its military memorial includes a wall engraved with soldiers’ letters sent back home. Many of them are final letters to families.
During this weekend remembrance, I listen to the national anthem being sung, but it’s always Taps that makes me feel the weight of what we remember. Different artists will sometimes tweak the anthem to fit their style of singing, but I’ve never heard Taps jazzed up, countrified, or played with blues riffs – thank goodness! The bugle call is always played with a haunting reverence.
The history of Taps is shrouded in rumor, myth and stories, but a common point found in each one is it had its beginnings around 1862. One story suggests the origin of playing Taps at military funerals: During the Peninsular Campaign in 1862, a soldier of Tidball’s Battery A of the 2nd Artillery was buried at a time when the battery occupied an advanced position concentrated in the woods. It was unsafe to fire the customary three volleys over the grave, on account of the proximity of the enemy, and it occurred to Captain Tidball that the sounding of Taps would be the most appropriate ceremony that could be substituted. (source usmemorialday.org)
At the time, units from both the Union and Confederate armies were playing Taps as a call to end the day, so maybe hearing it wouldn’t have aroused suspicion or given away positions?
The day hubby and I spent reading engraved letters, we also saw the traveling Eyes of Freedom, Lima Company Memorial displayed in Ohio’s state rotunda. Anita Miller, the artist who created the memorial, had just completed a sculpture to be included with the paintings. The sculpture, Silent Battle, honors those men and women who return but are no longer whole, and those veterans who commit suicide. On Memorial Day I think of them also, and the mood of Taps seems to fit.
Because Taps isn’t a song, there aren’t official words to it, but words have been ascribed to the 24 notes. Some of the most familiar are:
Day is done, gone the sun,
From the hills, from the lake, from the skies.
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.
I like to think those words would bring comfort to those who continue to struggle.
I’m posting this on Monday, and this day will be more festive and celebratory. Burgers are already thawed for grilling, we placed the red, white, and blue flowers and décor in Dad’s boot on the porch and they’ll stay through Veteran’s Day. Growing up in Ohio, Memorial Day always seemed to be the official weekend to plant flowers – Mom and Dad had petunias or marigolds around the house or in planters – so I’ll play in my SC dirt. I believe enjoying the day and spending time with family are ways to honor and remember the fallen too.
And today would have been Dad’s 90th birthday so my sisters and I will celebrate him today, too.
May your day be filled with a good balance of remembrance and joy.
A Writer's Window 