I cracked one eye open and looked at the clock. The bright red digital numbers showed “7:13”. I turned to look at Lady Shannon and see her sleeping so peacefully. Tucked in between us was the Lady Bailey, slightly snoring. Luckily, on a holiday Monday, there were not yet sounds of traffic and other interruptions.
I reached over and stroked Bailey’s head, which to her is the signal that “Daddy’s Awake!”, and time to get the morning in gear. I should have known better and waited another 15 minutes.
Up she popped and snuggled in close, so tight it was her usual mode of trying to get almost inside of my skin and feel the warmth. I held her close, and after a few moments gave her the verbal cue and off the bed she jumped. See, this is where I think I’m going to get in those 15 minutes, and maybe a few more, just to satisfy myself that I could stay in a zombie state until at least 7:30.
Of course, I knew better.
It didn’t take long to hear the soft whine that was now sitting bedside. Eyes back open and there she was, tail wagging, ears up, eyes bright, and the real alarm clock had sounded. Naturally, trying to tell her this was a holiday Monday and thus deserving of more time under the covers was useless. To her, it was another day, time for walks and breakfast.
The routine began in earnest. A quick step outside for the initial respite, interrupted only for a few moments with the now-expanding collection of ducks who walk right up to the door in search of their take on “The Breakfast Club”. To the kitchen, putting together Bailey’s breakfast from the homemade food we had prepared the day before. The little prayer Bailey and I share before every mealtime to remember Master Magnus and those fuzzy kids who have loved in our lives. Carrots in my pocket for the walk, and a good 20-30 minutes around the neighborhood taking care of “business”. Returning home, and that final treat signifying the walk was over.
Then a good morning kiss for the Lady Shannon, spend some relax time watching “The Today Show”, a quick muffin and OJ for breakfast. The one cup of coffee I imbibe in every day to follow, with thoughts already swirling about what the day needed to deliver, and what may come from the rest of the week.
In many ways, in just about every way, it was like every other day.
Just about ready to head off on this Monday when the cable menu showed “Band of Brothers”, the brilliant and powerful 2001 miniseries from HBO that captured the World War II days of Easy Company. “Easy” for E Company, 2nd Battalion of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division, the "Screaming Eagles", a company in the United States Army that made history during the war against Adolf Hitler and global fascism. It has long been a favorite of mine, alongside the exceptional companion pieces “The Pacific” and the recently aired “Masters of the Air”. The realism, the horror, the sacrifice, and the heroism of these men and that time never cease to stop me in my viewing tracks of thought.
I wasn’t going anywhere for an hour or so. I caught the tail end of Episode 1, and stayed for Episode 2, the one that told a story centered around “The Day of Days”, D-Day, the invasion of Europe that began on the Normandy coast of France. Episode 2 began with the depiction of what it must have been like for these man, and thousands of their fellow soldiers, jammed into the tin can of transport planes heading directly into the war.
For most, this was their baptism of fire. I can only imagine what it must have been like in those hours before parachuting into the night, surrounded by enemy bombs and bullets. The skies were so full of Allied aircraft, one might have been able to hopscotch between them like rocks in a pond. 11,590 aircraft available to support the invasion. 14,674 sorties were flown that day, and 127 aircraft were lost, shot out of the night sky and plummeting to Earth. Soldiers who dedicated their young lives to serving their country, seeking out the enemy, and never got the chance.
Riveted yet again by the dedication of this event, it once again brought me to the sobering and even emotional moment I am confronted with every time I watch this series and many other programs like it. In the eyes of those men, in their moment of heroic undertaking, without the possibility of knowing what their actions would result in, herein lies the backstory to my morning.
Without their sacrifice, I would likely not have risen as I did this morning. I very likely would not have been at such peace. There may have been no loving eyes to look into, no serene moments of thought, no simple tasks as sipping orange juice and having conversation.
Without their sacrifice, there may not have even been a me. The course of history would have flowed a different path, and the waters of chance would have coalesced into a very different outcome.
I owe my life to the bravery of these men and women. So do you. Events that occurred well before I was even considered as a twinkle, when my Mother and Father were children thousands of miles away on the other side of the world. To not defeat the evil that enveloped the Earth in every corner could have, would have, potentially left behind a tattered and shaken world. One where I, perhaps you, would never have existed.
Sit back a moment and reflect on that. Consider what might have been. Think about what we owe these true heroes.
It is often in such moments I agree with those who termed it “The Greatest Generation”. They were honorable and dedicated. They surrendered their lives for the future. They made this day possible. Certainly, there have been others of their kind in similar shoes. However, when one considers the conflict, the history, the fight for justice of that era, it can, and should, lead to pause.
Would that I could thank them all for their service. Not just service to America, but service to the human race. To people of every color, creed, religion and belief. Who gave us the ability to choose, and in response, hopefully choose to be worthy of their sacrifice.
I looked into the eyes of my little beagle, sleeping so sound and so warm. I kissed the Lady I love and walked into my office to write these words. I catch myself holding back the tears of thanks to those of that generation, and those that followed, who helped to make it all possible.
That is what Memorial Day is all about. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with picnics, family gatherings, or just being alone somewhere to reflect. Because all of that is what their blood, sweat and tears made possible. When those young men landed on beaches, slugged through the swamps, took to the air, faced the business end of a rifle, nearly froze to death or baked in the burning sands, they were making it all possible.
They made possible our personal achievements. They made possible our professional improvements. They made possible our having a choice on which direction we would follow, and in the process, how we honor them and those around us.
Pause a moment, Bow your head. Send a “thank you” into the ethereal mists of time, and hope that wherever those souls are, they can hear, and perhaps in your ear, you will hear the whisper of a simple response.
“You’re welcome”.
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