A Memorial Day Tribute

Today, I am supposed to remember – remember the sacrifice men gave to keep me free. But most of these heroes are numbers: a few names, still fewer stories. What are the stories of those who really fought, not for honor or reward, but for love of family, friend, and neighbor? Those whose stories are told did the exceptionally great, were given one great choice – a chance to be remembered forever. Because their stories bring greatness, they are so much less.

The report was in: America was going to war. All was excitement for the young man and his brother. It was entertainment – far away and unreal. Mother stopped still several months later. She couldn’t breathe or talk or move. Fear forced tears into her eyes. And memories came back. Memories of losing her own father screamed at her. She walked over and dropped the notice, a draft notice, in the lap of her scarcely eighteen year old son. She had made her choice.

Matthew picked up the notice and opened it. He sighed as he read the details. Childish excitement was left behind. Standing, he reached to comfort his mother, and reached for his life which was racing away from his grasp even as the reality of war drew nearer.

The following day he waited in line with many others his age. He couldn’t keep the fear from his voice as he answered the enlistment officer’s questions. The form was filled out. With his signature he sealed his doom, whatever that may be.

Orders came for his assignment and training within the week. A tearful farewell was given. His father and brother were proud, his mother terrified and sad, and Matt was already lonely, his spirit oppressed by the uncertainty of his future.

He reported as ordered and trained well. Full effort was put into doing his best. All he had, he devoted to his task.

Every decision brought him nearer to death, yet at any one of them he could have turned back. Soon, Matt was out on the high seas, manning a lookout post for on his ship. Other sailors seemed confident that they would see their families again. Some didn’t care; they’d rather not see them again regardless. Matt served on board, sacrificing time that could now never be spent with those he loved.

The young soldier survived many battles and hope crept into his heart. Friends were wounded, and acquaintances killed, but Matt went on. Hope could be dangerous in war. Hopelessness could be fatal.

His captain informed the men of the next attack. It would be an important encounter in the Navy’s strategy. If they failed this mission, home could be a thing of the past. Matt remembered the people of home, almost a sacred word now. Men spoke it in whispers. His work was for them. He cared enough for those at home to do anything in order to keep them safe.

All men took their positions. Matt passed a door. This door led to a corridor and, more importantly, to a small, secret room where he could sit out the battle unnoticed. A chance to be safe! He walked past the door, faithful to his responsibilities.

The fighting began. A bullet whizzed past his head, slamming into his friend. His friend perished. Matt looked one grief-stricken moment at his comrade lying defeated on the deck. As an explosion in the water rocked the ship, Matt looked around, resumed firing, and spoke aloud the names of those on his ship whom he remembered. None of them paid any attention to him, but he continued.

A bomb split the ship at last, and sent the entire crew to their grave. No one would tell their story. No one knew it. They died the way they lived, not sure. Not sure of who would win, of whether their deaths meant anything. Hundreds of men were buried in the sea by an enemy who couldn’t even see the faces – an enemy who wouldn’t pay for his crime. These men weren’t given one great, definite choice; they made many little decisions, and ultimately, they chose to be brave.

Word came home of the deaths. Only names. No record of noble last moments or bravery or daring conquests. Families grieved. Then they chose. They chose to remember.

To be honest, I don’t know their stories or their names. Some died willingly, some reluctantly. Without their sacrifice the life I know could not exist. The real heroes we celebrate are those whose deeds were no less honorable because they were unknown. Those who were unable to receive glory for their choices gave us cause to spend a long weekend with the truly valuable, and to pause to remember.

To God be all glory.