You see, after years of “benign neglect,” one of the items for me, “semi-retirement,” was to focus on family and home. To the latter, a number of issues have arisen over the almost two decades, and now they have to be addressed.
Rehabbing the house has started (with a lot more to go). At least one thing has been completed, which is a “repaint” of the downstairs bathroom, the living room, and the dining room. Next are the stairs leading upstairs and the hallway. Appliances are being replaced (e.g., dishwasher, fridge, and a new “stacked” clothes washer/dryer) – and the features of a new gas stove (in your EYE, Joe Dementia!) are under discussion with TMEW (I want a large “wok burner” and built-in griddle; TMEW has other ideas).
So, with all that said, what does all that have to do with Memorial Day?
Memories – and the codification of them. The Youngest came over in the middle of that painting for a visit with the Grandson and was looking around. There’s a wall facing the doorway that goes into the downstairs bathroom. I painted it a nice blue color as I have a specific idea of what is going to be mounted on it. That idea is what brought the Youngest to tears. He thought he had lost something that was very valuable to him that could not be replaced.
What he didn’t remember was that he had given it to me when he first returned from his year-long deployment with the 101st Airborne (part of his severe PTSD and TBI came with severe memory loss). The item was a remembrance of that time of adventure, pain, and sorrow. He pined for that item for a long time. Even as he was again explaining to me what that meant, I could see the emotions welling up in him (almost to the point of activating yet another panic attack – gratis due to the PTSD).
He mentioned that he really missed it, as it reminded him of his combat friends who returned—but more so those who did not.
At that point, I gently reminded him that his special American Flag that had flown over Kabul (the capital of Afghanistan) had been upstairs in a safe place all this time. That we had known its significance to him and made sure that it had been well protected. That’s when the tears started to flow and continued as I explained that both his flag and the Eldest’s (gifted to us as it had flown over Baghdad – the capital of Iraq – were to be individually mounted within two thick plates of polycarbonate with standoff studs from the walls. For each flag, a summary of their units, time in theatre, and other info would be mounted above them.
He was floored – and memories of his hitch came flooding back. And then he made an offer that I did not expect – the beret shown at the top.
When he came home and was mustered out, he hadn’t kept much of his kit, but that was the singular piece that, with all the problems he was facing (and they were severe in intensity and length of time), he ensured was never lost or damaged. Above his wife’s protestations, he gifted it to TMEW and me to be encased in that flag mounting. I could tell that it was the most difficult decision to make.
There’s a local frame shop that we have utilized for several special items. They will be commissioned to make this project happen sometime this summer, and then it will be hung shortly after that. There, they will stay until we have passed on, and then they are to be repatriated back to those who earned them.
Memories – of those still living and those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Not just for “our values” and our country, but those those standing to the left of them and to the right of them – the Brotherhood, that Band of Brothers. No, I never served and have kept few memories of friends and co-workers over the decades. It always amazes me how vivid the memories are of those that did of those they served with. They own stories that the rest of us, who never served, will never have, nor will we ever completely understand.
All we can do is share with others the experiences of those who kept the home hearths burning until their return (“…For now I, along with millions of others like me, stand with his Dad at the end of his driveway.”) never wanting to hear the noise of an unknown car pulling into our driveway with uniformed men slowing walking up to our door.
We ALL, however, remember all those who ran towards the noise of gunfire.
As Memorial Day approaches on Monday, we at FS take time to reflect on the sacrifice’s on behalf of those who paid the ultimate sacrifice. The price of freedom isn’t free.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
And as we see the current antics of those who would NEVER put themselves in danger for their country because they HATE this country and its founding values, I remind the rest of us of one very important fact that some wish for us to forget and let our spines turn to Jello concerning Life’s real reality:
H/T: Soldier Systems)
