The Veteran Who Left an Imprint on My Soul

It was 4:30 a.m. and lightning illuminated the night sky. The cracking roll of thunder trailed close behind, followed by the cry of our 4-year old son.

I later found out that our 11-year old daughter lovingly tried to intercept him before he reached our bedroom in an attempt to spare us from him waking us up to “snuggle”.

My husband and I instantly awoke as if in a parallel response to the lightning and cries from our son.

Kindly intercepting our son, my husband offered him a comforting embrace in an effort to ensure him that we were safe in our home. He settles down. He loves his Papa.

We love snuggles from our four children. Some of my favorite memories are the mornings we are still in bed and the whole lot of them pile on, and in, and over. Destroying the bedsheets as they play.

But “snuggling” with our 4-year old is anything but a restful embrace. As he squirmed atop the bed, flailed arms and legs, and muttered random thoughts, it was again evidence that he hasn’t quite mastered the art of snuggling. In due time, he will.

Parenthood comes with the acceptance that you never know which nights you will suffer from broken sleep. Sometimes, I am able to play catch-up towards the latter part of the morning. But not this morning.

In preparation for Memorial Day, we were due to place small American flags in front of the graves of fallen heroes at the Middle Tennessee Veterans Cemetery at 8:00 a.m.

Meeting up with troops from both American Heritage Girls and Scouting America (formerly known as Boy Scouts of America), I was juggling a few extra minutes of sleep while checking the radar and trying to verify if the event was canceled or proceeding. The thunderstorm was fierce.

The storm persisted and I hoped that the event would not be canceled. It is one of my favorite annual traditions. At the start of each flag placement morning, volunteers gather. Hosted by Scouting America, the scouts recite their oath and we all bow our heads in prayer, thanking the Lord for the brave soldiers we prepare ourselves to honor with flags.

The volunteers are then dismissed to place the flags. Some carry electric drills, others screwdrivers, and a few professionals bring devices that nail through the earth at precisely one foot in front of the headstone. Placing a hole in the earth makes the job of inserting the flag easier and faster. Even though many volunteers show up, we still had nearly 18,000 flags to place this year.

At 7:00 a.m., a clearing radar gave us the green light to proceed. Now it was a mad rush to get ourselves in gear and hit the road. Unfortunately my husband had to work today and could not join us. But the rest of us ate breakfast, grabbed water bottles, packed our screwdrivers, and were off.

On the 25 minute drive there, I gave my annual informative speech to our four children and opened it up for Q&A. Every year, I try to hold back my tears as I teach our children about the military and how they serve unselfishly.

I’ve always been enamored by the fact that the military are willing to give their lives for the people of their country. Mind you, most of these civilians (hundreds of millions of them), they have never met.

I quietly ponder: Would I risk my life for a stranger? Would I put my life on the line, knowing that my own family would suffer if I died in the act? That’s a hard pill to swallow. A question and reality that brings tears to my eyes and a knot in my throat as I write.

Since it had just stormed, it was very muggy. The temperature wasn’t too bad, but I regretted wearing pants. Although they were dry fit hiking pants, I still yearned for the coolish breeze to brush up against my bare legs.

We made it through most of the process with mild weather, minus the humidity. Towards the end, the sun shone through the straggling rain clouds. The heat kicked in and I could feel the sweat on my back, like glue adhering shirt to skin.

Although I was tired from little sleep, we had stressed over the radar, the day had been muggy and became hot, and my 4-year old (who was well-behaved most of the time) began to act out due to lack of sleep, I kept myself in check.

I did not complain about the mugginess, even when others around me did. I am not discounting their feelings about the weather and their life perspective. That is totally fine and I know that they did not intend to disrespect the effort displayed by these deceased men and women.

But I silently offered any mild discomfort I felt throughout the day to the military personnel who fought/fight for me. My mild discomfort was nothing in comparison to what these men and women did/do for me. Me, a little American nobody, blessed enough to be born into this great, free country of ours.

As our American Heritage Girls troop posed for a picture at the end of the morning, I looked for a bystander to take my phone and snap a picture of our group. The cemetery employee who helped us had already been handed two phones from other parents. I figured a third phone was a bit much to ask of him.

I really like photos to be taken on my own phone because sometimes the quality isn’t as good when someone else texts them to you. In addition, I have to be patient enough for them to send it. I scanned quickly for another bystander. I did not want to hold up the taking of the picture, but I also really wanted a picture taken with my own phone.

As I turned to my right, a stranger volunteered to take my phone and snap a picture. Grateful, I handed him my phone and lined up.

Every year, I like to take a picture of just our family. It’s neat to see us here volunteering through the years. My hope is that this tradition helps our children grow a genuine desire in their own hearts to serve. One that when they are no longer under our constant wings, they will seek out ways to serve on their own. Just like my parents instilled in me.

After the picture was taken, the stranger that took the group photo strikes up a conversation.

“Thank you so much for coming out to put these flags at the graves today. I am a veteran and this means a lot to me. Thank you so much.”

The humility struck my heart and instinctually jarred me to defend his position.

“You are the one that should be thanked. I thank you for your service,” I replied with due respect.

Almost overlooking the fact that I had just said thank you, he went on to express his thanks again. Not in a rude way, but in an admiringly humble way.

Again insisting that he was the one deserving of the gratitude, I said, “Thank you for your service, sir.” And the conversation gently came to a close.

I regret not asking for his name so that we could offer up prayer for him by name. When praying for others, I prefer to use their names. Instead, he continues to remain anonymous, just as he is to the hundreds of millions of Americans he fought for.

On the drive home, the annual conversation with my children resumed. We talked about our feelings and how important it was for us to be there. I shared my conversation with the dedicated and humble veteran.

I’m so glad that weather didn’t force us to break tradition this year.

Census.gov reported in 2022 that there were roughly 18 million veterans living in the U.S. That many people, plus all 11+ million active duty military (Statista.com), love each and every one of us so much to risk their lives for the good of our country.

On this Memorial Day weekend and always, I tip my hat to all of those folks who devoted and continue to devote their lives to ensuring our country remains free and protected. Thank you all.

---

In addition to trucking away at my books, I have been writing on Medium to keep my feet wet in the water. I hope you enjoyed this reflection I share with you both here and on Medium. Thank you for visiting.