Sunday, May 30, 2010


My mom was the youngest of seven children.  Her stories of life as a little girl are like fairy tales to me.  I dream of being surrounded by so much family and so little technology, able to run freely with little thought of predators, drug addiction or MRSA.  Who hasn't, at least at one time, longed for "the simple life."  However, when my mother speaks of her youth, she can never just "gloss over" my uncles' service in World War II -- a difficult and nervous time for anyone who endured it.  All but one of her brothers served, and thankfully, each one returned.

I never had the opportunity to really ask any of them about their experiences; my last remaining uncle in fact, has never and my mother says, would never speak of it.  Their stories are told through the few pictures my mother has, and some of the trinkets they brought back for her.  I can't help but get goose bumps when I go through those things; I handle them as if they were the Dead Sea Scrolls or the Declaration of Independence.  They are so much of who I am as a daughter and woman -- that spirit of courage, loyalty and love.  They seem to have a life of their own, and as I hold them I can almost feel my roots reaching deeper into the soil of this country.  My uncles made a difference.  My uncles' service, and the service of all those other uncles, grandfathers, neighbors and friends gave something to us all.

This Memorial Day be sure to thank a vet.

"All gave some; some gave all."
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