No Words

There are no words.  No words can further consecrate nor add adornment to the honor of a freely given sacrifice.  Without words, though, the rest of us might not remember, might not appreciate, might not grasp the enormity of what so many have done, have given, have sacrificed.

On this fourth Monday in May the morning sky remained dark.  A steady rain buffeted by breezes is as solemn as it is a simile for the stillness that forever follows sacrifice.  We are here; we are free; we have bounty; we have time.  They gave us these things through courage conquering fear and commitment overcoming doubt.  They acted in reliance on an acute belief in rightness, on the nobility of duty. 

The morning paper brought the story of six men whose plane went missing on Christmas Eve forty years ago in the Laotian jungles bordering the Ho Chi Minh Trail.  The story wasn’t about their mission or their heroism but about a cupful of thoroughly charred bone fragments and a broken piece of tooth that finally made it home.  Modern testing proved the identity of the crew who died performing their regular mission on just another day of war.  On that day, miles away, they protected Christmas Eve for millions of wide eyed kids who wait for Santa until sleep brings dreams of a joyful Christmas morning.  These men died together in their plane in a faraway place.   They will, hereafter, rest together in one casket interred in the sacred grounds of Arlington. 

A dozen years ago, scores of first responders ran to the World Trade Center.  Smoke was billowing out of several of the floors hundreds of feet above the streets and sidewalks of lower Manhattan.  The buildings were populated with people who did not believe that their work was particularly important to protecting freedom.  But they died that day - for freedom.  Freedom called for payment that day - payment is always made in the currency of the blood of a few for the benefit of many.

In Kabul dusk is falling at the same time the morning rains are visiting the middle of America.  This day in the lives of a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers is just another day of war.  But somewhere in the countryside of Fallujah there is a soldier who is giving aid to an Afghani child - medical help, food, schooling or perhaps just kicking a soccer ball.  The sun is setting.  Somewhere in the back alleys or caves there are plans being made to take that soldier’s life.  Some of those plans will succeed.  He proceeds thinking only of fulfilling his mission.  He works to freely show kindness as the legitimate alternative to oppression.

In Boston, lives and limbs were lost to those who crave oppression over freedom.  But the spirit of a free people rose out of the race that day.  The very first responders to the blast were other runners, spectators and employees of businesses lining the route.  Many of them ran toward the blast.  They chose to do whatever they could without thinking about the risk of a second, third or fourth blast.  Professional first responders were on the scene in seconds.  Everyone banished chaos and focused - treat the wounded, guide the innocent away, and organize the triage to save lives.  

This is the day Americans recognize as Memorial Day.  It is the unofficial first day of summer - the season of the year filled with sunshine and days of play.  It is also a day to pause and remember, to reflect and return thanks.  

For most of us, this day is a reminder that relatively few of our number have been called upon to carry the burden for all of us.  Some will wonder if they would have the courage to answer the call, to run toward harm without regard to the price that might be paid.  We know that homage should be paid to more than the final heroic act whether by soldier or civilian but we are not sure we could ever be worthy of such honor.  We live on and live free - that’s why the fallen fell.  It’s a debt we owe.

There are no words.  Words are completely inadequate to the task.  Honoring and remembering those who covered the cost of freedom deserve to know that we respect the value of the gift they gave.  Actions not words.  If we ask ourselves, if our freedom is used with wisdom, respect and compassion, would the answer honor their sacrifice?  As the rain is falling and the skies remain dark, the time is now.  We should each resolve to perform one act that would bring a knowing nod from one who stood strong in the face of harm at a cost of the days he might have had.

--td