Always Remember To Never Forget

A typical day in my life is this:
"Have you seen my glasses?" Michael replies with a grin, "They are on your head."
"Have you seen my car keys?" "They are in your hand." "Have you seen my grocery list?"
Michael again grinning, giggles, "I found it in the fridge next to the empty milk jug you were going to recycle."
O.K., so I forget everything. I spend as much time in my average day looking for things I need as I do using them. My mind is full of people's schedules, animals and professional deadlines. One kid tells me something about their friend and grandma's phone number shoots out of my other ear. I make lists everyday that I promptly misplace somewhere in our small home. It used to be I blamed our giant house for my never being able to find things. "If we had a smaller house, I wouldn't be so absent minded", I would begin my rant why everything else was at fault for my inability to recall the simplest of things. The truth is I became completely scattered years ago and have never fully recovered. Maybe it was having four kids in four years, or maybe it was how busy we all were, or maybe I have always been scattered, and now I am finally seeing it for myself. Whatever the reason, I continue to try and organize myself, investing in post-it notes, paper for lists, Tupperware for storing stuff, and my never ending supply of calenders that never quite get filled out with the proper appointments. In the end, with all the helpful accoutrements, I still find myself failing to get where I need to be in the organization game.
There are a couple of things I always remember. I remember to feel grateful to my bones for being here at all. There have been moments when I have wondered why I survived and Danny didn't. My prayers, back, right after he died were, "Lord, why me?" I certainly didn't have more to offer, I thought. I most admittedly was not as sure of myself, or what I was doing. The answer came later to me, in quiet moments, when God and I had a few moments to connect. Why I was here was not going to get answered in any way I originally wanted, but my being here, my breathing, my getting up everyday, putting my feet on the floor, trying to be better, trying harder to become a person who would honor Danny, and God, that was the reason, the only answer I really needed.
The other thing I always remember is that I love being an American. Having traveled to other countries, I have grown to appreciate how fortunate I am to live in a country where I can speak, as a woman, as a person, as a citizen in my country without the fear of recourse. I love my country and it's people. Not because we are perfect, but because we never stop growing, never stop learning, we try every morning we get up and put our feet on the ground to be better. Being an American is something I have come to cherish above nearly all else. God, family and country are priorities most of the American people have. Visiting countries without the benefit of clean water, or readily available food stuff, or neighbors you can count on, are just a few reasons to love being born here. What other country puts such emphasis on being happy. We have the right, the privilege, of our pursuit of happiness. The idea, the concept of the pursuit of happiness, still brings tears to my eyes, every time I think about it. As an American, that pursuit is honored by every branch of government. Yeah, even Congress, occasionally, throws us a bone.
I decorated for Memorial Day for the first time this year. I bought American flags and planted them all around the entrance to our house. It is my reminder to myself how blessed I am to be born in this country that others die trying to get to. I never had to swim an ocean, walk a desert, or lay in a belly of a ship to enjoy my rights as an American. I never had to starve, in order to save for transportation, or risk the lives of my children in order to crawl my way to freedom. I was born into my freedom. I was raised with a father who served in our military, before I was even a thought, to protect the rights of his unborn. I have all the benefits of living in a country where freedom is valued so much, the people here are willing to die to protect it.
I feel the overwhelming sense of grief of Memorial Day. Maybe it's because I have lost someone, so valuable to my family. Maybe it's because I revere their bravery so much. Mostly it's because it could have been my father, my sister, my son or daughter who perished in the name of freedom. It could have been my family quietly decorating grave sites. It could have been so many of my friends, who I so dearly appreciate. These soldiers who we honor this weekend, well, they are us. They belong to all of us. Their blood is our blood, their history is our history, their families are our neighbors, sisters, brothers, friends.
While I remain a proud American, I am also a grief stricken one. The wars rage on, soldiers of every race, gender and position continue to perish protecting our America. Since last Memorial Day amidst the cook-outs, the picnics and the flag waving, 549 soldiers have perished. 549 funerals for loved ones, our bravest, have been planned and executed, 549 times a family had to hear the worst phrase they will ever hear, "I am sorry to inform you..." With all of that, those very families raise their flags, say the Pledge and sing the National Anthem, so proud of the loves they have lost, for being the brightest and best our country has to offer.
I ask that we all take a moment, sit a minute in silence, say a prayer and remember those who gave their greatest gift for our right to remain the home of the free and the brave. Our pursuit of happiness is their greatest wish for us all. My greatest wish for them is peace, here and wherever they are.
God Bless you and yours this weekend, and God Bless America.