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Monday, May 26, 2014

A DAY OF REMEMBRANCE


World War II Memorial
Today we remember... 
We recall to our hearts those who left the safety of their families and their homes to serve. We name those of our blood who did not return from wars of independence. We think of the unknown men and women who work each day on behalf of our protection. Today we are grateful.

My previous work called me to become the keeper of the beginning stages of a remarkable archive for the Navy V12 College Training Program. Clutching the hem of a worn wool jacket of a remembered Navy V-12 sailor, my heart is stunned. The stories accompanying the photos, the letters, and naval maps are gracious gifts.

As a child of the 20th century, my understanding of war is limited. I recall the few stories told of my grandmother's only brother (Norris) who fought beside my newly engaged grandfather in the Philippines. Only one returned home. The letter of condolence to my great-grandmother holds a sacred location in my great-aunts home. Norris was the only son and only brother. The yellow ribbons donning our city's trees served as a bright welcome home to our men and women of Desert Storm. At the time, I only understood the magnitude of joy expressed on the family’s faces. Their grief for the fallen seemed an iridescent cloud surrounding their thanksgiving.
  

The summer of 2009, my mother and I visited the World War II memorial in Washington, DC. The reality of service to one's country, dedication to one's job, and discipline of heart came into focus, as family of four paused in front of us.  The grandfather with his blue cap decorated with pendants and his eyes swollen by years, nestled in a wheelchair, recounted stories to his great-grandson.  Composed, my mother extended her gratitude for his service. Then she silently turned and walked away to express grief in memory of her father. The emotion felt that afternoon is not easily explained. Instead, it is an education learned. It is a churning in your soul, and you are forever changed. 

Let us always remember.

Home
Sincerely,
Brooks





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