Memorial Day

I grew up going to the cemetery with my family for Memorial Day. We didn't have any family buried in the town I grew up in, but we went to be part of the service, part of the community, to remember, even though we may not have known them. With all those years of 21-gun salutes, poppies, overcast skies, and hint of rain, you would think I would be fairly stoic about Memorial Day goings-on.

And I have been.

Until now.

Before the offering and the sermon (entitled "Remember Not to Forget") at church yesterday, they played a brief video. It was of Ronald Reagan giving a Memorial Day address, who knows how many years ago. It was beautiful. Emotional. And as it ended, they played Taps. After 2 notes, the tears started to flow. Before it was over, I was sprinting to the bathroom in the middle of a breakdown. Besides the lone bugle, the only thing I could hear in my head was my cousin Tate's voice before my grandpa's funeral, "I hope they don't play Taps. I'll cry like a baby." Tate, who along with Neil and my brother Tyson were so strong as they folded the flag to give to Grandma. Just knowing that song makes him cry like a baby made ME cry like a baby. I absolutely, positively, could not hold myself together. By the time I'd washed my face and gotten my wits about me, the choir was mostly done with a stirring rendition of the Battle Hymn of the Republic for the offertory.

I couldn't believe what a wreck I was. I mean, I miss Grandpa, but I thought I'd been dealing with it OK. But Taps... I can't take it. Not anymore. I avoided the news all day today in fear of hearing it again on TV. I think losing Grandpa this year made the whole idea of Memorial Day hit home in a way it never had before. He fought in Korea. He was so proud of his grandsons (and some of their wives) and their military service. I am so thankful for all of them, stepping up and serving so that we can have our freedoms.

Remember not to forget.