In honor of Veteran's Day and those who served.

[Heathen57]

I wrote this a couple of years ago, but it still stands and I wanted to share it here with all here on DU. I had done it for Memorial Day, but fitting now since the politicians are still either celebrating like me or crying the blues like the Repub part of my wife's family.


As I look over the parades that were moving down the streets filled with the throngs of flag waving people, I felt the pride of the sacrifices that the veterans who were being honored today must have felt.

I could hear the speeches being broadcast from different locations around the city. The calls for unity and pride from politicians. The vendors offering all sorts of items both useful and useless with a copy of the American flag attached.

I turned toward the path that would take me to where I had left my car when I spotted a old man moving slowly with a cane in one hand, and a handful of small flags in the other. In the cool of the day, he was bundled in a faded coat and a woolen hat on his head. He moved like his joints would prefer to have been somewhere warm, but you could see the determination in his gait as well. Much like a man with a mission and the drive to carry it out.

He headed past the gates of the cemetery, shuffling his way toward the rows of white headstones that were set in perfect symmetry. He would stoop to set one of his small flags at the base of a headstone, stay kneeling for a moment, then struggle to stand once again to continue on his way. I moved closer, interested in his ritual, but loathe to interfere.

I finally approached him when he stumbled and almost fell. I helped him to stand upright and asked if I could walk with him. He thanked me and gave his consent in a voice that was soft and wintry. We walked along and I asked him why he would be out here on such a chilly day.

He stopped in front of another one of the white headstones in that sea of graves. He knelt down and placed the flag near its base, pushing hard to force the stick into the ground. I knelt down next to him as he began to speak.

"While the politicians and the others talk about remembering the veterans, they only talk about the ideals in general. I come here each year to honor the ones that they don't know about. Family and friends that gave their lives for the love of their country. My father who died in France in 1916. My buddies who died in the rush onto Omaha Beach on June 6, 1944. A cousin that perished during the push at Inchon. My son, who lost his life in the Tet Offensive.

More than anything I want to remember the ones here that have been forgotten. They made the ultimate sacrifice. I was there and remember the horror and the pain that they had to go through. All in the name of freedom. Those of us who made it back have to try and make the rest of the world understand the price those here made."

I watched as a tear moved slowly down the weather-beaten face of this man. I could not fathom the emotions that his memories pulled up him. He struggled to stand, determined to finish his self appointed task. I helped him with the rest of his flags and as the last was planted, he lamented that he could not afford enough so all there could be honored. I stayed with the old man for the rest of the day, while he told me of acts of heroism and the sights that he had seen. We shook hands that day, and I promised to meet him again here next year.

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I stood once again in the sea of white headstones. There within the silence, I knelt and planted the last flag. This was a new headstone, the marker of my friend. He was gone, but I think he would be proud that someone carries on his devotion that all here should be honored. Farewell, my friend. And thanks.