Memorial Day 2007
The origins of Memorial Day, as told in the book "Victorian Family Celebrations", by Sarah Ban Breathnach:
"Let us return to Columbus, Mississippi, in the spring of 1866. The Civil War has been over for a year, yet Union soldiers still occupy the town. The fires of passion and prejudice that had consumed over 500,000 American lives between 1861 and 1865 still smolder in bitterness behind closed doors.
Just outside of Columbus is a cemetary where both Confederate and Union soldiers killed at the Battle of Shiloh are buried. On April 25, 1866, four young women pay a visit to the cemetery to tend the graves of lost loved ones and decorate them with memorial garlands of flowers.
After decorating the Confederate graves, the women walk over to a small plot where forty Union soldiers are buried. Gently they scatter Southern magnolia blossoms on the Northern graves. The news of this unselfish, compassionate gesture spreads quickly and touches everyone. Newspaper editorials praise this act of reconciliation and urge the nation to come together to mourn both the "Blue and the Gray".
Soon in many small towns all over the country, people were gathering at Civil War cemeteries and holding commemorative or "memorial day" services. Afterwards, there would be parades led by a brass band, the volunteer fire-brigade, and a review to honor America's veterans. Following the parade and patriotic orations, there would be a community picnic on the town common.
During the late nineteenth centruy, Decoration Day was a major American holiday and was celebrated with even more fanfare than Independence Day. This was because the Civil War had touched or altered nearly everyone's life.
Ironically, however, even though the country came together in spirit to honor America's war dead, the North and the South still managed to commemorate independently. In 1868, General John A. Logan, commander in Chief of the GAR ("Grand Army of the Republic", a union veterans' organization) designated May 30 as "Memorial Day", while the Daughters of the Confederacy held firm with the term "Decoration Day" and a date of April 26. Today, Memorial Day is recognized as a day honoring all of those who have fought America's wars and is legally observed on the last Monday of May."
We thank each of you who have served, and who are currently serving. We mourn with those who have lost loved ones in America's wars. Please take a moment today to reflect on the sacrifrices still being made by our troops and pray for their safety. The following is a poem that Farmgirl wrote for her daddy commemorating his return from Iraq.
"Army Boots"
I wait in anticipation at the airport.
Swirling, dancing, my memories collide.
Pictures, laughter, and tears are drowned in the remembered thump- thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
I try to reconstruct his face. The smooth, kind face.
The shiny dark hair, the sunny brown eyes.
But over it all I remember the thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
Those irrevocable memories of those big, shiny wonders.
The sound of them thudding grandly through the door.
The tramp of Army boots.
I close my eyes, shut them against the cheerful, careless crowds that push their traveler’s gaiety on a mind in turmoil
And I wish for the thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
The doors open, and streams of civilization pour in.
High heels click and tennis shoes “thwack” unceremoniously.
But I wish for it more than anything.
To hear the tramp of Army boots.
Then I see him. The somber tan among the gay bursts of vivacious color.
I flee, flee from memories into searingly wonderful reality.
My eyes take in the face. Lines criss-cross the hardened jaw.
Gray hairs cover the dark head of my childhood.
His eyes are still brown. But they are sad. Scarred.
My eyes burn with tears, my face burns in an agony of joy.
I take hold of his arm. It is hard. Harder than I ever remembered.
Then those hard, loveless muscles wrap themselves around me with more love than they had ever held before.
The same heart was beating. I could feel it against my pounding head. It was beating for me, for us, for our family.
As we left, he held me still.
And I could hear the same thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
~ to my Daddy, whose heart still beats for me.
I wait in anticipation at the airport.
Swirling, dancing, my memories collide.
Pictures, laughter, and tears are drowned in the remembered thump- thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
I try to reconstruct his face. The smooth, kind face.
The shiny dark hair, the sunny brown eyes.
But over it all I remember the thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
Those irrevocable memories of those big, shiny wonders.
The sound of them thudding grandly through the door.
The tramp of Army boots.
I close my eyes, shut them against the cheerful, careless crowds that push their traveler’s gaiety on a mind in turmoil
And I wish for the thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
The doors open, and streams of civilization pour in.
High heels click and tennis shoes “thwack” unceremoniously.
But I wish for it more than anything.
To hear the tramp of Army boots.
Then I see him. The somber tan among the gay bursts of vivacious color.
I flee, flee from memories into searingly wonderful reality.
My eyes take in the face. Lines criss-cross the hardened jaw.
Gray hairs cover the dark head of my childhood.
His eyes are still brown. But they are sad. Scarred.
My eyes burn with tears, my face burns in an agony of joy.
I take hold of his arm. It is hard. Harder than I ever remembered.
Then those hard, loveless muscles wrap themselves around me with more love than they had ever held before.
The same heart was beating. I could feel it against my pounding head. It was beating for me, for us, for our family.
As we left, he held me still.
And I could hear the same thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
~ to my Daddy, whose heart still beats for me.
