There are countless things in life that I’m grateful for — too many to list without keeping you here for days. But woven into all of them is something deeper, something often overlooked: the reason I even have the freedom to be grateful in the first place.
Growing up in Cullman, we were taught from an early age the importance of Memorial Day — what it means to pause and honor the men and women who gave their lives so we could live freely and fully. It was a day to remember the real heroes, the ones who laced up worn combat boots, wore the cool green camouflage, carried a rifle and went off to war for their country and the families they would leave behind.
As a kid, I honored these heroes in a much different way than I do now. In my backyard, I would take on the missions of the very soldiers I’d learned about — storming the beaches of Normandy or navigating the jungles of Vietnam. A random stick became my M-16 and pinecones served as grenades to be tossed into enemy bunkers. It was my imagination at its best and would serve as one of the foundational ways that I would begin to understand what Memorial Day was all about.
As I grew older, my imagination would take a seat to realism and the visceral nature of what sacrifice meant. Each passing Memorial Day deepened my understanding. My teachers at Vinemont always did a great job of ensuring that the lives of those lost in service to our country lived on through our growing memories. They did this by teaching us about the lives of our American patriots and their heroic deeds. We learned about the realities of each war, the casualty counts, the letters of condolences that many families would receive and the impact that their actions and sacrifices would make for generations to come. All of these things would mold my perspective into what it is now; though I understand that I may never understand what it is to truly give the ultimate sacrifice, I know it’s something worth honoring — worth remembering.
For years now, I’ve had the privilege of attending Memorial Day ceremonies, services and gatherings where stories are told by family members and friends of those who never came home. I don’t go out of obligation or to feel some sense of moral virtue — I go because I believe that, at the very least, remembering is something we owe. It’s a small act of respect in return for an immeasurable loss.
Maybe it was the stories I’ve heard year after year at Memorial Day events — the poems read through somber voices, or the conversations with veterans who make sure the names of the fallen are spoken aloud while ensuring even the unknown are remembered — that deepened my conviction to remember.
Though I never felt the personal call to join our military, or at least lacked the courage to do so, I have been fortunate to have known so many incredible military men and women, both past and present. Growing up, my childhood home sat next to a Vietnam veteran named Louis Price. We’d often cross paths where our yards met, and he would share stories about his time in Vietnam and the harsh realities he and his squad faced. As I’ve come to learn when speaking with veterans, the story is often written in their eyes, as if they’re watching an old reel play those moments all over again.
While Mr. Price shared many of his wartime stories with me, I can’t recall us ever talking directly about loss. Maybe that was the line Mr. Price didn’t want to cross. Maybe he sensed that the young teenager that I was wasn’t ready to hear it yet. Or maybe, the grief was something he carried quietly, in his own way, holding it close as both a burden and tribute to keep the memories alive. Whatever the reason, it was his to keep.
Just like Mr. Price’s memories, those shared and those unspoken, Memorial Day is about honoring all of it. Not just the stories told around dinner tables or at community gatherings of those incredible heroes, but the silence that follows, too. It’s a day to remember the names we know, the ones we don’t and the empty chairs that remind us of those who never came home.
It’s that quiet, lasting sacrifice — the one that we remember each Memorial Day — that makes many of the freedoms that I often take for granted even possible. That sacrifice made everything that I wanted to achieve in life possible if I just chose to pursue it. My family, my home, my education, my ability to worship freely and feel safe about it, all stem from those who gave everything on my behalf and yours.
Memorial Day is meant to stir our souls in a deep and respectful way. To first, remember the cost, but through that remembrance to step away from the selfishness that encapsulates so much of our lives. It’s a reminder to latch onto the gratitude we owe for all that we have because it came at a price.
So, this Memorial Day, I challenge you as I challenge myself, to find a moment in your day to pause and give thanks. Cullman and most of the surrounding counties have a plethora of Memorial Day events available to the public and I’ve seen first-hand the excitement and impact it makes to our local veterans and family members to have the community show up. Check with your local VFWs, your community centers or Google Memorial Day events near you. Find something to be a part of and take that hour out of your day to give thanks.
Because it matters. To the families who carry that loss forevermore, to our local veterans and to the memory of those we honor. I challenge you to show up. Have a conversation. Learn some names. Hear their stories.
Be the difference that the cost of a life paid for you to be.
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