I have spent much of the last few months researching a book I’m writing about my great uncle and his World War II experiences.  Because I have little direct information to work with, I found myself reading from diaries of many who served with him, I found myself reading books that spoke in depth about the inadequacy of logistics, communications, and leadership that lead to loss of life and capture of many.  I read of torture in prison camps, the cold, the hunger, the sickness, depravations of all sort, as well as, senseless death.   I have gone into the minds and souls of men and considered deeply the affect on families with little-to-no communication.

These men and women were not some figment of a distant history, these were men and women very much like ourselves,  But they had known depravations and hard work, they were products of the Great Depression, they were brought up to expect nothing, to be self-reliant and resilient.

They dealt with the situation in front of them in the ways they could, and they, who would survive, moved on to build strong and resilient societies.  They never got over the horrors they saw, they carried it with them for the rest of their lives.

I know Memorial Day meant something far deeper for them.  They enjoyed family, grilling and fun because they’ve seen and experienced humanity at its worse and could appreciate greatly humanity at its best.   But it is and has been a solemn day for them, and now ever more so for me.

This journey I making into the past has been soul challenging in ways I have not expected, but also rewarding.
I’ve never served our country as they did, but I have a deep and abiding respect for those who have and for those who died for our freedoms and in service to each other.