Today, I’m not going to try to sell you anything. There’s something more important I want to talk about.
This past weekend my thoughts were all about remembering and pondering the scores of people who gave their lives for our freedom. It may seem like a moot point talking about this after the holiday, but I don’t believe it is. I believe this is something that should be on all our minds daily. The people who died for this country don’t have a life anymore….just so we could live ours in freedom. The sad thing is, most of us take it for granted.
Most all of us know of 
gallant men and women who served and fought for us. To me that is beyond sobering. I personally cannot fathom that kind of commitment….that kind of love…to be willing to lay down your life for the freedom of everyone. It’s one thing to do so for your family, but for those you don’t even know? This kind of sacrifice goes beyond words.
My Gramps was one of those men. He fought in WWII. He was in one of the ‘famous’ battles and at the moment I cannot recall which one, but that is not what is important. A battle is a battle. Men and women lost lives or were severely wounded in all of them.
Gramps managed to get through the war with his life, but his life was definitely changed by his experiences. He suffered many wounds including all kind shrapnel in his back and arms. It was just left there – for some reason it was never removed.
He also had a scar. I remember as a little girl sitting on his lap and tracing a scar that angled deeply across his right arm, just above the wrist bone. I’d ask him about it, and he’d always make up some silly story about how he got it. It was very, very deep. I remember he held utensils and pens oddly. I’d even tease him on how he would hold a pen and write and I’d try to ‘teach him the right way’ to hold it. Geeze, little kids have no couth whatsoever and I was the queen of the uncouth. Had I only known and understood the real story…
As I grew older, I learned more. One day, my grandma told me the story about the scar and shrapnel. It seems that during a fierce battle, debris from a nearby blast nearly severed his arm. Enough so, that his hand was dangling off the end of his arm. He refused to allow the medics or doctors to amputate and insisted that it be reattached. They told him more than once that he would never use his hand again. Being the bone-headed, extremely stubborn man that he was, he told them in no uncertain terms that yes, he would be using it!
Yep, you guessed it. Given some time and his own brand of rehab, he did indeed do the impossible! Yeah, he wrote ‘funny’, but determination, perseverance and hard work brought that hand back to life.
He never talked about the war. Most people who 
have experienced it, don’t. I wish I would have only realized. I wish I would have sat with him and listened more to what he had to say. I wish I would have known his heart better. I was young and of course, all I knew, or probably needed to know at that time, was that he was the best playmate EVER! He teased me and played with me….and most important, I knew that he loved me.
I was only 19 when he died. Even at that age, I was only beginning to understand who he was and what he did for our country, at that time, I still didn’t have a firm grasp on what he did to be able to fully appreciate the magnitude of his actions.
I loved my Gramps so much! He was a rock in my crazy, mixed up world. He was my best friend. I still think 
of him often and miss him dearly. He was not only my hero, but the country’s hero as well. Now days, when I think of any man or woman who served our amazing country, both past and present, I get a little choked up. I think it’s because I know now….I truly understand the sacrifice of these beautiful, caring people (and their families) and I just don’t know how to thank them. “Thank you” just sounds so flippant for some reason.
I want to be able to honour them every day of the year. I want them to know how grateful I am and how much I appreciate their sacrifice. I want them to know that I am behind them, but most of all…I wish I could tell my Gramps all those things.
Don’t wait. Whether you’re related or not, let our 
veterans and their families know that you appreciate them. They need to hear it. Honour those who have gone on before, and for the ones still here, make it known to them that you appreciate their sacrifice. This blog isn’t long enough to list the reasons why, just do it.
If you’re standing in a cemetery and you hear ‘Taps’ softly playing…it’s too late.
