Memorial Day is a tough one. So many lost their lives serving our country to get us where we are today. Wars to start our country, repair and re-unite our country and wars about saving the world. Words and terms keep changing but the sacrifice is the same, especially for the surviving family members and service members who served alongside those who died.
Have had many family members serve between WWII and now and fortunately none were lost while serving.
Hopefully each of us has some time today and can take a moment or two to reflect and thank those who "paid the ultimate sacrifice".
Important to remember distinctions:
Memorial Day: for those who died in service
Veteran's Day: for all veterans who served
Armed Forces Day: for those currently serving
Lately I've been immersed in reading about WWI history. What a fubar'd time. Such waste of lives all around. And our US forces simply weren't trained at a level that prepared them for much else other than slaughter. Going to Flanders battlefields this fall and wanted to learn more about theatre of battle before heading over. Scary part is that given current events and all the nationalism around the globe, it's easy to see the parts fitting into place where it could all happen again.
I didn't lose any direct relatives in any war that I know of, although dad & uncles served in WWII. Still, it was weird seeing my family name on the plaque of those killed on the USS Arizona when I was in Pearl Harbor. Never did figure out a connection between that soldier and my lineage.
It is the ultimate sacrifice. And well worth at a minimum, a moment or two of reflection.
When my dad's WWII draft notice came, he was in the hospital getting a cancerous kidney removed, and was eventually classed 4F. He lost a 2nd cousin -- I believe in Italy, but could be mistaken -- and as far as I know, that's as close as my immediately family came to losing anyone in any of the wars. But so many of the kids I grew up with had lost their fathers in WWII. It was weird to feel thankful that Dad had had cancer, but at times I did.
My father fought for his country, Italy, in World War II and was sent to a POW camp in Germany when Italy surrendered. He was 20 years old and spent 2 years in the camp. After immigrating to America in 1954, he became a proud, patriotic American.
My wife had two great uncles who fought for the U.S. in the war: one who survived the Battle of the Bulge, the other, a Ranger who scaled the heights at Pointe du Hoc at Omaha Beach, was killed on D-Day, June 6, 1944
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