Remembering

Yesterday at the movie theater and in the middle of a half-hour of previewing mostly drivel I was shocked out of my seat by the preview of Rescue Dawn.

It made me sick.

My uncle, my dad’s little brother, was shot down over Laos. We never saw him again. I was six at the time, but I vaguely remember getting the news. It was the day after Pearl Harbor Day—so I somehow always confuse the two. And it was the first time—one of only three times I ever remember—I watched my father cry. It is unsettling to see the one who wipes out your grief every time he wipes away your tears suffer a grief much too deep for your six-year-old mind to wrap itself around. (I thought about that moment when I saw the same confusion reflected back at me in the eyes of my son as he witnessed my reaction to what happened on September 11.)

As I grew up I remember being aware as my grandmother and several other family members served tirelessly for decades on behalf of MIAs and POWs. They just wanted to bring them home. It wasn’t until just a few years ago Uncle Bob’s remains were discovered in a cave in Laos—a place where at the time our government denied being—and the family got some closure as the remains were eventually brought home.

Needless to say, the images in the preview of this film struck a little too close to home.

I know that ours is only one of thousands of other stories (–this is the cousin after whom my father was named. His story has always been something special to me because I was named after my father–) that are likely to be forgotten unless we share them. So today I share with you the little bit I know. Because I was too young to remember. And then it was too long ago to remember. But I need to remember. And when I do I can easily skip past the politics and policies of that war or this war and just get down to what I can only imagine it must mean for mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters and most especially the children.

And so I would hope that no matter what our feelings are about the war (my own are too complex to articulate here) we at least take a moment today to be grateful. Freedom is never won handily nor without sacrifice. And that which we enjoy was and continues to be hard fought.

I add my prayers of thanks and for safety for the many men and women who have served and do this day serve in our military. I am mindful of their sacrifices as well as those of their families.

Thank you.