In Memory, There is Life (Memorial Day Edition)

This weekend, I reminisced the wonderful opportunity I had a year ago to visit dear friends in Big Bear, CA. During one crisp, cool night, we ventured out to a local hangout by the waterfront to see the Memorial Day fireworks. I was amazed how this small community had such splendid fireworks! The dazzling colors wowed folks young and old with "oohs and aahs" galore, juxtaposing the bittersweetness of this day of remembrance - this day to honor those who sacrificed for our country so we can have the fireworks, the barbecues, the time with family and friends.

I was also reminded of a profound experience with a colleague who is a combat veteran. One spring day, he seemingly randomly noted, "Hey, it's my second alive day!" To which I responded, "I've never heard of that phrase before. What does it mean?" He then described how it was anniversary of the day he almost died from an enemy attack. He remembered thinking if he was dead, he wouldn't feel any pain. But somehow, he felt pain and thought, "Well if I feel pain, I must be still alive and in this world!" Although he had to be medically retired, which broke his heart, he was grateful to return home to his family. I thanked him for his service. Then, several months later, during a group call icebreaker on favorite movies or something light like that - my colleague recommended everyone see the multi-part National Geographic documentary The Long Road Home, which was based off of a book of the same name.

My colleague has often noted that doing the right thing costs you something. I thought I understood this statement but did not fully realize the gravity of his words until seeing the watching the eight-part documentary, reading the book, and asking him about his part in the harrowing experience. It was supposed to be a routine mission for a platoon of soldiers, which were ambushed in a densely populated area in a large city in Iraq. My colleague was tasked with going to rescue the beleaguered platoon... which was almost a suicide mission given the equipment on hand. The documentary portrayed the rescue team going in lightly armored pickup trucks, where insurgents could easily take "pot shots" and mortally injure the team. I incredulously remarked to my colleague: "You guys went into the battle... in that??" He unassumingly noted, "Yeah, it (the battle) was pretty bad." He then proceeded to tell me how several he knew many of the guys that did not make it back and how it was the right thing to do to make sure all the rest of the guys made it back, even if it meant risking one's life by doing so - and in his case, being hit by an improved explosive device (IED) and miraculously living to tell. Suddenly, it made more sense to me of the cost he mentioned. The cost to do the right thing. The cost on the families of when one does the right thing. The cost of giving one's life for another to have a life. The cost so we have the opportunity and privilege to live in this country.

I noted to my colleague that I still have rudimentary understanding of military lingo and culture, but figured if he took time to recommend the documentary and book, the least I could do was take the time to understand what he and others had to go through. He noted he was grateful I took the time to watch and to listen because learning about the sacrifice of the fallen keeps their memory alive.

It can be extremely easy to get carried away in the barbecues, the sales, the deals, the rhythm of another great three day holiday weekend - but it is great also to remember the stories of those who didn't make it back. Light a candle in their memory by taking the time to learn an individual story. Through memory, we can keep that eternal flame burning - that the sacrifice for freedom is cherished and carries forth to the next generation. In memory, there is life.

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Portrait of a Warrior Gallery Kern County

Paintings here honoring those who didn't make it back home. May their memories be a blessing.