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veterans day

Remembering Those Who Served

November 11, 2013 By Michele Woodward Leave a Comment

bigstock-Remeberance-Day-Poppy-1066774

Take a moment.

Breath deep.

Quiet the noise.

Forget your busyness.

Be still.

And remember. Because now is a time of remembrance.

Of men and women who stood up when called, and stepped into service.

Bravely, into harm’s way.

On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918, World War I ended. And every year since, all around the world, people take time to remember on this day.

Because we cannot forget.

“During the early days of the Second Battle of Ypres a young Canadian artillery officer, Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, was killed on 2nd May, 1915 in the gun positions near Ypres. An exploding German artillery shell landed near him. He was serving in the same Canadian artillery unit as a friend of his, the Canadian military doctor and artillery commander Major John McCrae.

“As the brigade doctor, John McCrae was asked to conduct the burial service for Alexis because the chaplain had been called away somewhere else on duty that evening. It is believed that later that evening, after the burial, John began the draft for his now famous poem ‘In Flanders Fields’.” (source)

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

Busyness can wait. Today, with gratitude, we remember.

 

Filed Under: Authenticity, Blog, Clarity, Happier Living, Uncategorized Tagged With: busyness, Flander's Field, gratitude, Remembrance Day, veterans day

The Sacrifice of Veterans

November 11, 2007 By Michele Woodward Leave a Comment



Living in the Washington, DC area as I do, I’m surrounded by icons of our nation’s history. Nearly every day I cross the Potomac River and am greeted by the majestic Lincoln Memorial, with the Washington Monument obelisk just behind it, the stately Jefferson Memorial off to the right. Out of habit I look to the Capitol Dome — if it’s lit, I know that Congress is in session. The Iwo Jima Memorial is a favorite — my father’s apartment has overlooked it for at least twenty years — and each of the sculpted men straining to plant the flag is like an old friend.

Whenever I see these monuments I try not to take them for granted. I try to remember that I feel lucky and blessed to live in this country. Every once in a while, I am reminded that not all the monuments in this town are so easily seen.

A few years ago, I took my kids to lunch at a McDonald’s near their school. We pulled in and noticed a van unloading some young men in hospital scrubs. This being a big city, we didn’t pay too much attention. I did notice that the guys were young, scrubbed, with short haircuts — and giddy like kids.

It wasn’t until we were inside, in line, that I could read one of the young men’s t-shirt. It said: “Don’t touch me here — bullet hole.” And, “Please don’t hug me — broken rib!” He had circled areas and notes all over his front, and his back. All four of the young men had similar markings on their shirts, and pants.

That’s when I realized — these were wounded soldiers. Recovering soldiers. Not much older than my son. Happy as all get out to be away from Walter Reed Army Hospital for just a few minutes. Happy to just be standing there, ordinary guys, ordering a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese and fries.

Just a few weeks ago, I was shopping for groceries and noticed a woman — model tall, polished ponytail, a little bit younger than me, Ingrid Bergman cheekbones. That alone would have caused me to notice her. But she was wearing a runner’s prosthesis on her right leg, and her left leg was pockmarked by small, healing wounds from her ankle to the hem of her runner’s shorts. Shrapnel wounds, I guessed. I weighed the idea that it could have been a car accident. But the way she carried herself? Like a soldier. That’s when I knew how she’d been hurt.

For a moment, I didn’t know how to manage my own feelings. I wanted to offer to push her cart because that wasn’t easy for her, or to pay for her groceries, or at least tell her I appreciated her sacrifice.

Because I haven’t sacrificed very much during this war, to be honest. Unlike my grandmother, I haven’t had to do without, save ration coupons, worry about loved ones serving. No, I’ve had it pretty easy.

And this woman in the grocery store — she lost that leg doing something I did not do. She served and she sacrificed. I followed her for a few minutes, wondering if I should say something, wondering if she wanted to talk about it. Wondering if calling attention to her would be the right thing or the wrong thing to do.

In the end, I did nothing. Nothing more than say a silent, grateful prayer for her and her family. With hopes that her external and internal wounds will heal.

On this Veteran’s Day, let’s remember the men and women of the past who have served our country since the Revolutionary War, but let’s take special note — and special care — of those who are serving today.

Their sacrifice is its own towering monument to our country. And for that, I am grateful.

Filed Under: Happier Living Tagged With: gratitude, men, sacrifice, service, soldiers, veterans day, war, women

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