The Honor In Living

Can we have a quick little chat about Memorial Day?

15 years ago, my understanding and perspective on this day changed. I guess that is bound to happen when you personally experience the definition of something. Memorial Day in America is about remembrance and honor for those who have given their lives for the freedom we take for granted every day. I’ve always known that. Even as a teenager, I understood that my freedom wasn’t free because of the example given to me by family. But those few short years ago? Well, honoring the fallen, those who gave all, changed for me…more so in my heart than in appearance.

My military service isn’t something I talk about very much. I don’t know the why’s and it’s not that I mind talking about it if asked. It’s more, though, like a treasure I keep closely guarded so that it doesn’t become tarnished or faded. I’m not even sure if that makes sense to anyone else but it’s the best explanation I can give.

For just a moment today, though, I want to open the box, take a look inside and explore what it means to honor the ones I keep tucked away.

In a world where social media is the platform for opinions and discussion, it’s no surprise to see literally everyone you’ve come into contact with post (in some way or another) “Happy Memorial Day”. Those words are usually accompanied by a short little note, meme or gif that say something about never forgetting. Inevitably though, for every 5 posts that have those words, there are always 5 more scolding, scathingly, about how shameful it is to say this day is “Happy”. The thing is, it isn’t the happy that bothers me. It’s the scolding of it.

Before we go any further, I know this is just an opinion I have. I get it. There are a whole bunch of people that won’t agree with my words or my thoughts. I might even make some angry though that isn’t my intention. I just want to give a different perspective on why that word might be used. So, I ask, that you bear in mind as you read the following, these really are just the rambling thoughts of a southern girl who, at one time, served her country and fellow man with a willing heart.

I signed my enlistment papers before I was out of high school, many moons ago. If memory serves me correctly, neither of my parents knew I was enlisting until my recruiter showed up to have one of them sign with me (I was only 17 at the time). I had absolutely no idea at that young age, how much I would grow, learn and achieve. I had yet to fully discover the leadership qualities or discipline I would one day find and I had absolutely no idea how put together and brave I might be capable of being in terrifying situations.

Now, I don’t want to mislead anyone. My war time experience looked nothing like “American Sniper” or “Thank You For Your Service”. I was not part of a combat unit. I was instead, part of a supply unit that hauled 5,000 gallon fuel tankers from northern to southern Iraq. I make that explanation because I in no way want to take away from those who cleared the way for us to be able to do what we did and while we did not engage in combat, the vitalness of what we did, did make us aware of the possibilities when travelling. There were moments, intense and breathless, when we realized danger was still ever present though.

We lost 1 brother from our unit while we were there. I lost another, unknown soldier, while stopped at a refueling point, trying to save his life and since we are only looking into the treasure box, I’m not going to take either of those pieces out to describe them fully….but I do want to explain the importance of them and why they reside there.

I can’t really tell you anything about the man whose life I tried to save. I can describe him to you….his looks, his weight, how he smelled, the position he was in when I answered the medic call. I can describe the heat, exhaustion and the overwhelming suffocation I felt that day. I can recall him and the circumstances around him exactly when I open the box. (Knowing so little, in no way, makes him any less important to me though and doesn’t diminish his memory for me in any way.) I can, however tell you about Roger Dale Rowe.

Roger was a transfer into our unit before we deployed. He volunteered to go with us. He was close to retirement and loved to talk about his wife and grandkids….unless he was talking about Toni Braxton who he was completely in love with and had total permission from his wife to marry if he ever had the chance. Roger loved life, ALWAYS had a smile on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand. He told us he drank coffee in the desert to cool himself off. He tried, multiple times, to explain that but said it was a concept us young kids would never understand and I guess he was right because several of us tried it and all we got out of it was being hotter than we were before we drank the dang coffe. I still laugh when I think about that. The only rival to Roger’s quick wit was his kind heart and willing spirit. He was an early riser and after his breakfast, cup of coffee in hand, he could ususally be found walking the motor pool even if we didn’t have a mission that day. If there was something to volunteer for, Roger’s hand was up. If you carried something too heavy, Roger’s strength was added to yours. If there was a problem to solve, he would scratch his head right beside you. He really was one of the best of us.

I explained all of that and who Roger was to say this….I think, after the many conversations I had with him, that Roger would be ok with you saying “Happy” Memorial day. Not because you should be apathetic to what the day stands for and be happy in your own little bubble, but because I fully believe, in living your best, HAPPIEST life, Roger’s sacrifice can truly be honored and remembered.

The thing is, those who volunteered, those who gave all didn’t do so for you to live a miserable life. They did so so that you could live, freely, a life full of joy. We absolutely should remember the fallen. There should be a moment when you bow your head and give thanks for the sacrifices that have been made for you…but then you should take that moment and use it as fuel to LIVE. That’s what I would have wanted. And I think that what others would have wanted too.

That is the greatest gift I can give to the two men I said goodbye to all those years ago. I honor them with my life by getting up every day and giving my all to what lies ahead of me. I may fail in that regularly but it doesn’t stop me from getting up and trying again the very next day. John 15:13 says “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” and that’s exactly what these two men, along with countless others did for me. Since their lives were given for me, I remember, I honor, by living mine for them.

So as you’re filling your boat up today, gassing your grills and buying those last minute river groceries, do so in remembrance…..but allow that remembrance to have joy mixed in too. Those that gave all, gave all with love and devotion to those around them, to preserve a way of life. Honor that sacrifice today the best way you can. Live your best life in remembrance of them.

Happy Memorial Day.