MEMORIAL  DAY

When we hear the words - when we think about Memorial Day, what hits us?  That is my question for the moment.

It’s a sacred day!

It’s a day of Thanksgiving.

It’s a day to rethink the gift of life.

It’s a day to say some prayers.

It’s a break - some extra time - some extra space. Hope the weather is good for Frisbee or the beach - a cookout - hot dogs and burgers  - beer and watermelon.

It’s a time for flag waving, patriotism, parades, bands, and to remember our dead.

It’s the time to reflect upon the craziness - and sometimes the necessity of war - because sometimes some people are crazy and need to protect one another and stop each other. Sometimes we don’t just say “Hi!” to each other as human beings, sometimes we don’t accept each other as brother or sister - and so we have wars when people kill each other.

I always remember on Memorial Day a tiny little story I spotted in Time Magazine years and years ago. The story talked about a young sculptor, who during World War I. In his spare time in a foxhole he had carved the wood stock of his rifle handle into the figure of another human. I don’t remember who or what the sculpture was of. It might have been of baby or a woman. What I remember all my life - and won’t forget - that this man’s talent, future, possibilities all ended there in his early 20’s in the mud and the machine guns and mustard gas in the middle of a war.

So that’s one reason I began  thinking about all the people who never got a chance to live life - because someone’s life line stopped - with a bullet or a bomb or a blast there in a battle in some woods or battle field or beach.

I think of all the Veteran’s cemeteries I’ve been in or have gone by in my life so far: Gettysburg, Antietam, Arlington, Crownsville, those two veteran’s cemeteries on West Street - and so many more.

I think of dust - earth - the paths we travel, the dust on our blinds - how this is all part of a billion living beings - that once was alive. I don’t believe in re-incarnation. I believe this is me and I get one shot - but I also believe I am part of all kinds of past life containing the life of men and women and children and squirrels, bears and bugs and hippos and deer - and trees and roses  and onions that grew and left their mark on this planet - for millions and millions of years so far.

I think of the urge and the hope in every human being to be remembered - that someone knew I was here - and so people leave letters, words, children, a legacy for someone to read - someone to see - someone to hold.

I’m glad there are cemeteries, obituaries, ship manifestos, baptismal records, marriage licenses, photos and graffiti - that we are not an I but a WE.