Next Monday we observe Memorial Day. We honor those who have fallen in service to our country.
I suppose it's a bit odd to celebrate death, but it's also a tad wonderful to remind ourselves that many have paid the ultimate price so we can, at will, blithely get milk at WalMart, check out a hot, new novel at the library, or pull up to the pumps, fill our tanks, and immediately go into serious debt.
It's also quite abstract. None of my relatives or friends has died in combat or while in service in the armed forces. I can only theorize about its meaning. Of course, I know the pain of losing a loved one. This country had lost tens of thousands of service men and women in the past 35 years alone. That's like losing Flagler County. Gone the talent, the wistful smiles, the joking personalities, and the love. Imagine the magnitude of the survivors' pain.
Recently I spoke with a friend who served in Vietnam. We began talking about James Elliott Williams, a full-blooded hero in that war who recently resided and died here in Palm Coast.
Talking about Vietnam was not pleasant for my buddy. He's been to places I've never been and hope never to go -- and I'm not talking geography. He's paid a great price. He paid it to me, you, and millions of others who didn't appreciate his service when he returned from that God-forsaken experience.
He's still somewhat bitter about how the government, which sent him and his comrades to battle, failed to adequately recognize their sacrifice and celebrate their service. That's where "duty" comes in. He and thousands of other fellow citizens did their duty, yet were left out to dry for decades.
How about those who died there? That was the real shame, he said, especially given the context of how that conflict ended.
Come next Monday and the following Wednesday, May 30, the original Memorial Day, I'll take some private time to reflect. Too often I lump all holidays together. They are the days to sleep in, wash the car, party, or take a family vacation. In other words, they're often occasions for doing anything but appreciating the reason for their creation.
That's my fault. It's certainly not because our soldiers didn't give me the right to observe the day in any fashion I choose. Towns have parades, speeches, and events designed to reinforce the day's significance. The opportunity is there for us to swallow hard, stand erect, and shout "Thank you!" to the memories of those departed heroes.
They're all heroes, no matter how they met their ultimately end. Anything I do next Monday or Wednesday or any other day is owed to them, the fallen, the courageous, the people of duty.
What is it like for the young boys and girls who lost mom or dad? What pride and satisfaction can they have? Wouldn't they rather have their parents? Memorial Day must also honor these people, the ones who carry this incalculable burden.
This year, when I awake on Memorial Day, I'll look at my wife and children and think about our good fortune: we're safe, together, and living in a free land.
I'll also think about hundreds of thousands of people over the decades I've never met. I'll marvel at what they gave so I could have what I have.
I'll think about their sense of duty, which was the greatest expression of love and caring that they could and did give to their countrymen and women.
And when I do this, I'll cry, just as I'm starting to now.
My greatest salute to these heroes will be to go about my business. Maybe I'll take the kids to the park. Or drive along A1A.
It doesn't matter what I do. My doing it exemplifies the lifestyle they died for.
Enjoy the day! It's their gift to you.
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Fred W. Apelquist, III, M. Ed.
Approximately 650 words
(c) 2001