I'm not really sure what it means to me. I'm grateful. I know that. Most of what I know of Veterans day is based of memories of my Grandfather. A former Navy man, who fought battles so horrific, so unthinkable, he rarely if at all ever spoke of them to us. My grandfather died last year, and while I always wanted to "hear" more of the stories he occasionally told, I was forced to realize he had censored the majority of content because it was too painful to retell.
I know this. Grandpa was one of the lucky ones. Except for a few flesh wounds, he clearly fared better than the majority of fellow Navy men he befriended. His best friends died beside him at war, though we were never told how bad it was. We knew his company of about 26 men came back 3 strong after one particular fight. We know that many were decapitated, or lost limbs on the battlefield.
One time while my grandparents who lived in Ohio came to North Carolina to visit, my father thought he'd enjoy a visit out to the USS Wilmington, a battleship permanently anchored as a museum on the coast of our state. He refused. Wanted no part. Here, so many years later the idea of his life aboard a similar ship had caused the man so much fear, so much pain, that he literally almost stopped functioning.
What good had came out from my grandfather were his skills as a soldier. From him- me and my 6 cousins learned how to tie a good knot, how to read a compass, a proper handshake. The first time I ever saw my grandfather in a military uniform was at his funeral. In a black and white photo that sat next to the casket, a picture of his boyish charm, and rare stoic smile. It was clear how he drove women mad, and my grandmother to fall in love with him. It was one of those perfect photographs, in a perfectly dressed military outfit taken the day he graduated basic training. I've never seen a photograph during or post his WWII experiences in relation to the war, and I can't recall ever seeing the smile Grandpa had on his face in that photo in any other photo. It was clear, war had changed him.
Likewise, when we buried my grandfather, we also buried the final memories of the other soldiers that died beside him. We no longer were able to benefit from the knowledge of a casual conversation. All that was left were the outcomes of his mistakes and successes and what he had chosen to tell us. What he wanted us to know. I'm grateful for his duty, and that he fought so we might live the lives we do. More importantly he taught us through his silence how large the price is that we pay for the freedoms we cherish.
