I spent this morning at Arlington National Cemetery. I
thought Memorial Day might be a good time to check in; I last
visited on Easter.
I’ve never actually been here for Memorial Day; it was
quite surprising, and rather an emotional overload.
I’ve seen the graves decorated with wreaths for the
holidays, but there is something about looking across row upon endless row of small
American flags next to the headstones that just grips my throat.
Any way you look at it—across or through—not one person was
left behind. All were remembered.
Same thing with flowers. As you walked into the visitor
center there were young folks offering you flowers—roses, chrysanthemums, lilies—to
lay on a grave. And yet—every grave I passed already had at least one flower on
it.
Not even those without headstones were neglected: every
grave I saw with a temporary marker also had a flag and a flower.
ANC was also a place for gatherings today. Folks brought
out their camp chairs and umbrellas, spread blankets and settled in to spend
some quality time with a friend or family member.
Many a headstone was decorated with an (empty) beer can or
mini-bottle of scotch or bourbon. And there were items that are often found at
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, too.
You know what—this is all I can manage after walking
through these acres of sacrifice. But I’m deeply grateful for the men and women
who have traded their lives for ours, and who rest in places like ANC around
the world. And I’m also grateful for the people who honor them today and
every day.
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