May 27: Memorial Day, My Father's Service, "In Memoriam"

Greetings all!

I hope you have had a relaxing Memorial Day with your friends and family.  I am not going to be talking about all the things that this day represents in the United States.  Others can do that.  Instead, I will tell you what I have done today.

This morning, I attended a short parade this morning and then a ceremony at the local cemetery.  Then, I went to leave a flag and flowers at my father's grave.  You see, he served in the Army during the Korean War.  Never saw action, but he always said it was the proudest time of his life.  There's supposed to be a plaque by his grave, honoring his service, but my brother, in his wisdom, took that plaque out to our family camp.  So my father never gets a flag on Memorial Day, except for the one I place.

Saint Marty honors his father's service this evening.

In Memoriam

by:  Martin Achatz

I take my two-year-old son
To the cemetery this Memorial Day,
Walk him around gravestones
As local war veterans conduct
A service solemn as evening rain,
As a high school band plays
Stars and Stripes Forever,
As the local Methodist pastor
Talks of ultimate sacrifice.
I remain a respectful distance away
So my son's screams won't
Disrupt the placing of wreaths,
The recognition of the Gold Star mother,
A woman whose son bled
To death in a jungle over 40 years ago.
On this day, in this place,
Her grief is fresh, delicate
As the white rose pinned
To the lapel of her jacket.
I lift my son into my arms
When I see the honor guards
Shoulder their rifles and aim.
I whisper in my son's ear,
Warn him of the noise to follow.
He still flinches, jumps
When the guns crack.
Seven of them.  Three times.
I hold my son close, as if I need
To protect him from some unseen
Enemy.  The trumpet begins
To play for the dead.  My son squirms,
Wants down, wants to run,
Collect fistfuls of dandelions.
I struggle to keep him still
Until the music ends,
Until the horn's last notes fade
In the gray morning.  My son
Kicks, pushes, yells until even
The Gold Star mother turns, looks
At us.  I surrender, put my son down.
I watch him race away from me,
Laughing among the stones,
The rows of waving flags.
Happy.  Free.