There are so many thoughts I have on Memorial Day: Of noble lives that never lived past their 21st birthday; of beautiful lives that have recently passed on to eternity, of the few who still remain; and of the memories that will be left when all are gone. I didn't used to think of Memorial Day, a day of remembrance, like that - partly because I was too little and partly because I just didn't understand. The truth is that we will never understand, but we can grasp at parts, bits, and pieces. My realization came a couple of years with the last WWI veteran, Frank Buckles. I had written a letter and was planning to meet him, if possible, but it was too late. Mr. Buckles passed away just a little after his 110th birthday, and just before I sent me letter.

A few months ago, my family and I visited the National Museum of the Pacific in Fredericksburg. It must have been 10 years since we had last been there, and we were enjoying seeing the expanded exhibits. While walking through the section on the Battle of Okinawa, I pressed a button for short oral histories, not knowing what to expect, and what I heard was deeply stirring to me.

Burt Cooper had been a medic during the Battle of Okinawa. One day he was taking care of a young Marine. The boy didn't have long to live, and both knew it. So, distraught, he said to Cooper, "I'm an orphan. I don't have any brothers or sisters. When I die, who will there be to remember me? Who will know what I did?" Cooper told him, "Don't worry. I will remember you."

Across the aisle from the boy lay a Gunnery Sergeant, a "big ugly Marine who everybody loved." When Cooper came over to him, the Marine said, "Doc, who will remember me when I die. No one knows be back home. Who will remember me?" Again Cooper said, "Don't worry. I will remember you." Within a day or so, both the orphan and the ugly Marine died. Cooper finished his oral history, "Ever since then, not a day has passed that I have not thought of the orphan or the GySgt. And if I don't remember during the day, I think of them when I lie in bed at night." Thanks to Burt Cooper, those two brave Marines will never be forgotten.

My dad wrote something for Memorial Day that was so perfect and beautifully written that I had to include it here.

“The Twilight Men: For some years now our family has lived in a world of twilight men - the sun is setting for all of them. They know this. That is why many of them are spending some of their last moments saying goodbye to friends they left behind more than seventy years ago. The names of those friends are etched in the stones before them. To the hundreds of thousands that look on these stones each year, those names are impersonal reminders of a battle that took place long ago. But to the twilight men, the sight of the etchings produce images in their minds of boys who were flesh and blood - souls of inestimable value. They can see their faces and hear their voices and feel once again a brotherhood shared in the midst of world changing events.

This is what is on the mind of these twilight men before it is their turn to leave. These memories are more fresh than yesterday’s news. For so many long years they have remained silent. Because who could possibly understand their feelings, joys, hardships, and bonds they experienced with those left behind? They are too personal. Too sacred. But in their dreams the twilight men are eighteen year-old boys again walking with their brothers on distant shores. Theirs is the kind of steely brotherhood only forged in the furnace of warfare. And those of us who are privileged to walk among them one last time, look for moments to capture glimpses of those memories, feelings, and experiences. We feel an urgency to do so before the sun sets and to communicate to others the value of lives well spent.”

Never forget. Never stop remembering. When you look to the future and plan what the next 10, 15, 20 years will be for you, remember this: that someone had to give up his future so you can live yours. This is a noble thing, and should not be forgotten.

Two week ago, we made a last minute trip up to the D.C. area to visit family and participate in the 70th anniversary V-E Day celebrations at the National World War Two Memorial. Last September was our first visit to the memorial, and ever since then we have been itching to get back. It was a fabulous week starting with a memorial service emceed by one of our favorite authors, Alex Kershaw, a fly over of some of the best WWII aircraft, hundreds of veterans, thousands of spectators, blistering heat, sore feet, melting lipstick, and happy hearts. (beware: lots of pictures below!)

After the celebrations on the 8th, the party continued out at the Udvar Hazy Center (National Air and Space Museum) where there was a living history camp with numerous jeeps and tents, a fly-in of a few of the planes from the previous day, live music performed by the superb United States Air Force Band, and, topping it off, we got to see our friends from DFW Honor Flight two days in a row.

Over the following days, we had the best time greeting Honor Flights from South Carolina, Illinois, Arizona, and Puget Sound. We met a couple of these Honor Flights last year, so it was great to see some of their amazing staff again and meet their new veterans. Living down at the bottom of Texas, this is a wonderful opportunity to meet folks from so many different states. Each brings a unique element from their hometown, with lots of memories and stories to share. It is really remarkable the affect the WWII Memorial has on some of these dear folks. Seeing the wall of stars or the name of a battle they were a part of, written in stone, recalls to mind many dusty memories.

One of the veterans made a comment to us that we mentioned elsewhere but is well worth repeating. We were standing in front of the wall of gold stars (each representing 100 men and equaling a total of 4,048 gold stars), and, as we talked, he sort of turned and looked at the wall and said thoughtfully, “There is a star on that wall that was supposed to be for me. But it is for my friend instead. He took my place.” The remark was brief, and he soon moved on to another topic, but later on, when we asked him about it he said, “I don’t like to talk about the war... It was in the middle of a fight, and I moved over and my buddy was hit by a grenade right where I had been.” The brevity of his comment made it all the more impactful. In just a few words he communicated a tremendous depth of feeling such that anything more might have been too much.

It was a lovely and memorable week for us and the veterans up there. The Honor Flight staff and the wonderful people who volunteer their time at the Memorial greeting Honor Flights with smiles, hugs, motorcycles, and dancing add so much to the experience, and the veterans go home with pleasant memories of their trip to D.C.