Sometimes, I joke about retiree’s holidays. I am aware of the neighborhood around me getting excited about an impending holiday, but it is difficult for me to get excited. After all, a work holiday is simply another in a string of days off for one who is retired.
But that attitude misses the value of holidays – it is not the time off that matters, but the meaning of the day. And marking these days, recognizing their import, add variety and, more important, value to retirement life.
Today, for example, is Memorial Day, synonymous with the beginning of summer, the end of school, backyard barbeque, and – oh – remembering the fallen. A radio commentator last week pointed out that we have changed what was to be a solemn day into a celebration of our leisure. A “ Happy Memorial Day” greeting, he said, is not appropriate, not if we allow ourselves to focus on the purpose of the day.
Mea culpa. I do not host large patio parties, create a feast, worship the summer sun on this day; instead, I have overlooked it entirely.
But I have discovered some letters that changed my attitude.
They are letters that my father, stationed in France and Germany, wrote to my mother. They helped me to grasp for the first time the effect that serving in World War II had on him and my mother. His writing showed me that they had made a sacrifice, one that would change their relationship with each other, and one that changed the relationship my father had with his children.
The man who wrote the letters was filled with joy and longing for a future he could only hope for. In none of them does he mention the fear, the reality, the horror of the experience. Each letter has been cut open by a military censor, and none of them have any details of where he and his unit were, what enemy they were facing, whether or not the campaign was successful .
And these details would not be revealed when he returned home. He never talked about his experiences, beyond telling my brother that “When you can walk by a dead body without a reaction, you know things have gone too far.”
The man who returned from war was different from the one who had been drafted. My mother once told me what a wonderful person he had been, before the war. Although I could not imagine the happy, optimistic person she described, these letters have confirmed the truth. The war changed him, and therefore changed the lives of all in the family.
But the letters have had a positive impact as well. They have helped me understand the man whom I found so hard, the one I rarely felt close to, the one I have had a hard time forgiving. I can glimpse now the horror that he found himself in, and I am humbled by the price he paid to ensure the life I have had.
So today, in Memoriam, I remember my father and I pay honor to all those who served and sacrificed.
05/26/2016