Appreciation Between the Notes

Immediately following my dad’s funeral service last year, my brother, sister, and I were met just outside the chapel by two Navy servicemen who came to honor my dad’s WWII military service. “Taps” by bugle was followed by the humbling and ceremonial folding of the American flag into that tightly tucked triangle. We were sanctified by the misty winter rain. My brother framed the flag which now hangs in a place of prominence in his home.

I think about that event quite often. My dad never spoke much of his time while serving in Hawaii and the Philippines. He, like many other veterans, just didn’t talk about it. My brother, sister and I stood in solidarity, captivated by the solemn space between each bugle note. I felt sad that we, as a family, didn’t address my dad’s military service more. Granted, my dad really didn’t talk about the past much at all. He was definitely one who lived in the present. Yet, during the folding of the flag, we knew my dad would have been overcome with emotion at the ceremony honoring him. I regretted he wasn’t physically there to see it.

The average age of enlistment is somewhere between 20 and 22. My dad was 18 when he joined the Navy. I can only speak to my readiness at that age to take on a country’s responsibility to defend and protect. Honestly, the majority of my energy at that time was more concerned the acquisition of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. 

I’ve met enough veterans to know that there’s reluctance to talk about military service, especially when it involves combat duty. Young recruits grow up rather quickly. Short sighted wants and desires surrender to something greater. Yes, military enlistment provides many young men and women an opportunity to bridge to a productive life, trained in expertise and skill. But in the meantime, many soldiers find themselves in the trenches, literally. In the fox hole, responsibility to look out for the one next to them, wearing the same mud-covered boots becomes non-negotiable. Self surrenders to duty, and this is where the capacity of one person is stretched in ways more than any of us non-serving people will ever know.

This Memorial Day, between cookouts and strawberry pies, we are called to remember those who have died after serving our country. I join that reverence, but I also suggest we think about the veterans who continue to navigate their present life with the ghosts of a former life that might visit them in the stillness of their nights. Perhaps coming home poses the greatest challenge for many veterans. So, a wish for them today: in those moments of lonely pain, I hope you can hear the bugle of appreciation from those of us who truly celebrate your service to this country. We are grateful.