Happy Memorial Day. A day to remember. A day to thank the past generation of soldiers for our freedoms. A day to thank the current soldiers for volunteering their service.
It is so important that families pass down the stories of brothers or sisters or fathers or mothers or uncles or aunts who served or died in previous wars. My dad told stories about some of his time in Europe but it wasn't until I was in college that he told me about being with Patton for a bit and seeing the survivors in the concentration camps. He talked about the endlessness of the war. There was no time off. He was there for four years. He was cold and skinny and miserable. In fact, we never camped as a family. He said he camped enough during the war.
His brother was in the Pacific theatre. I wrote about his terrifying experience here: http://livingwellwithabaddiagnosis.blogspot.com/2010/08/uncle-bill.html He was injured and walked with a limp most of his life.
My mom's brother had volunteered on a run over Bremen, Germany. He was a navigator on a "Flying Fortress," they developed engine problems after the point of no return and were picked off by shrapnel as they lagged behind. He was 19-years old. My grandmother was never the same and died of a broken heart. Here is more of his story: http://livingwellwithabaddiagnosis.blogspot.com/2012/05/recovery-time.html
We knew of these stories growing up. We knew to think of them each Memorial Day and give thanks.
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