They didn't get to come home to put the horrors of combat behind them. Never had a reunion with loved ones. Never got to revel in the freedom they valiantly fought for. This weekend we honor their sacrifice by placing flags on the ground where they came home to rest. We remember them in prayer. We show our pride in their service by flying the flag that represents what they stood for: Red for VALOR. White for PURITY and INNOCENCE. And Blue for VIGILANCE, PERSEVERANCE and JUSTICE.
I never met my Uncle Leonard. He died over twenty years before I was born. But he was always a part of our large family. His picture hung in the living room of Grandma's home next to the letter from President Harry Truman, "In grateful memory". Grandma always looked at it lovingly and with pride as she mourned her eldest son. It stirred emotion in his brothers, who probably wondered what life would have been like had he come home. In us, his many nephews and nieces, it provoked questions about Uncle Leonard, and it also reminded us of the sacrifices so many have made to keep us safe, and free from tyranny here at home and around the world.
When I go to the cemetery on Memorial weekend, I place a flag on Uncle Leonard's grave. An honor I have proudly taken over from his friends and fellow veterans of the "Greatest Generation". I am reminded of all that we are blessed with in this country. Especially in the fact that we have had succeeding great generations who have enlisted in the service of our nation to preserve, protect and defend the principles that so many before them have given their lives for.
Memorial day is for the greatest Americans. Fly your flag to remember the fallen soldiers, to support those who currently serve and to show their families that they are in your thoughts and prayers.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Prescription for Healing
It was a gray, rainy Sunday morning. And a bit early for a family gathering. But it was an important milestone. As much as it was a sad anniversary, it was a celebration of us using what we learned to face what we had been dealt.
Excusable tears occasionally swell up. Momentary reflection is marked by a brief, blank stare. In the two years since Mom's passing, we have each traveled our own path out of the darkness of grief, toward the rising sun of a new day. And we did it by following the path Mom cleared for us. Following the example she set. Mom's journey led us to prayer and faith, to the arms of our family members and to discovering our own inner abilities to overcome whatever we are dealt, knowing that God doesn't give us anything he hasn't prepared us to handle.
While we follow our Mom's example of how to get past the loss of your mother, Dad has followed his Mother's path for grieving the loss of the love of your life. Moms have a way of making sure you have what you need.
Looking back at the past two years, we can compare the before and after and find that we are more appreciative of one another. We find more time to spend with each other. Are more observant of each others struggles. Our large family is a blessing that we all realize every day. We pray more, giving thanks for what we have and putting ourselves in God's hand to guide us through difficult times.
The prescription for our healing included faith, family and following the journey of our Mother. The healing process resulted in us being stronger as a family. Finding our untapped talents. And it put us on a course of setting precedent for the younger generation. A path they will one day follow in search of answers, when we are no longer there to give them.
Excusable tears occasionally swell up. Momentary reflection is marked by a brief, blank stare. In the two years since Mom's passing, we have each traveled our own path out of the darkness of grief, toward the rising sun of a new day. And we did it by following the path Mom cleared for us. Following the example she set. Mom's journey led us to prayer and faith, to the arms of our family members and to discovering our own inner abilities to overcome whatever we are dealt, knowing that God doesn't give us anything he hasn't prepared us to handle.
While we follow our Mom's example of how to get past the loss of your mother, Dad has followed his Mother's path for grieving the loss of the love of your life. Moms have a way of making sure you have what you need.
Looking back at the past two years, we can compare the before and after and find that we are more appreciative of one another. We find more time to spend with each other. Are more observant of each others struggles. Our large family is a blessing that we all realize every day. We pray more, giving thanks for what we have and putting ourselves in God's hand to guide us through difficult times.
The prescription for our healing included faith, family and following the journey of our Mother. The healing process resulted in us being stronger as a family. Finding our untapped talents. And it put us on a course of setting precedent for the younger generation. A path they will one day follow in search of answers, when we are no longer there to give them.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Through the Fog and Mist
The clarity of our path is not always clear. The road ahead, tho sometimes a welcoming path toward the light, fades away. And we are left to feel our way through an unfamiliar fog. It's at that time that we must be able to trust in God's guidance and that He never gives us anything we can't handle.
Alzheimer's is a mist that fills our course with uncertainty. "Be not afraid".
When I visit my friend, who travels this journey, I am constantly reminded of that phrase that has so often been quoted, sung about and used as a reminder that God is always with you. And God will guide you through the mist and fog to bring you home. I have had some experience with Alzheimer's patients in my hospice volunteering. But the people I met had already progressed to the final stages. Patience and reassurance are what I learned are most needed. Now, as I have watched my friend's memory start it's rapid deterioration, I offer him a hand to guide him forward on the path he is no longer able to see. He has no family, and his friends have fallen by the wayside. Now it is those kindly nurses and aides who help him to dress, eat and to use what he has left to carry on with life's journey. He always greets me with a welcome smile when I visit. But now he has started to become confused as to who I am exactly. He remembers, but then tells me I remind him so much of his friend that comes to visit him. Sometimes he can't finish sentences as he forgets what he was talking about. Sometimes he can't remember things we just talked about. Some visits are spent laughing and talking. Other visits he seems to be in his own little world. I can't bring him cookies or candies any longer as they seem to confuse him. He needs his routine to guide him. So now I bring him pictures of the bar he once owned and the people who used to bring him many memorable moments. He constantly worries about the cats he took in years ago. I reassure him that they are all OK. That's what I am there for. Reassurance. And to offer my hand from the mist. To guide and comfort him. To remind him to "be not afraid".
While bits of sunshine may peak through his thickening fog, the path will no longer be obvious. The hand that reaches out to him will become less and less familiar. I have prepared to become a stranger to my friend. The kindness of a stranger can mean so much. I have taken his hand and I will walk with him on his final journey. And we will have smiles and laughter along the way.
Alzheimer's is a mist that fills our course with uncertainty. "Be not afraid".
When I visit my friend, who travels this journey, I am constantly reminded of that phrase that has so often been quoted, sung about and used as a reminder that God is always with you. And God will guide you through the mist and fog to bring you home. I have had some experience with Alzheimer's patients in my hospice volunteering. But the people I met had already progressed to the final stages. Patience and reassurance are what I learned are most needed. Now, as I have watched my friend's memory start it's rapid deterioration, I offer him a hand to guide him forward on the path he is no longer able to see. He has no family, and his friends have fallen by the wayside. Now it is those kindly nurses and aides who help him to dress, eat and to use what he has left to carry on with life's journey. He always greets me with a welcome smile when I visit. But now he has started to become confused as to who I am exactly. He remembers, but then tells me I remind him so much of his friend that comes to visit him. Sometimes he can't finish sentences as he forgets what he was talking about. Sometimes he can't remember things we just talked about. Some visits are spent laughing and talking. Other visits he seems to be in his own little world. I can't bring him cookies or candies any longer as they seem to confuse him. He needs his routine to guide him. So now I bring him pictures of the bar he once owned and the people who used to bring him many memorable moments. He constantly worries about the cats he took in years ago. I reassure him that they are all OK. That's what I am there for. Reassurance. And to offer my hand from the mist. To guide and comfort him. To remind him to "be not afraid".
While bits of sunshine may peak through his thickening fog, the path will no longer be obvious. The hand that reaches out to him will become less and less familiar. I have prepared to become a stranger to my friend. The kindness of a stranger can mean so much. I have taken his hand and I will walk with him on his final journey. And we will have smiles and laughter along the way.
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