Seven years ago, I posted about my first Memorial Day Service. I followed that up in a couple of years later in 2013. I said I hoped to make it an annual thing in 2011, and today marks my eighth in a row…same hill, same bagpipes, same replica soldier firing off honor shots, different directors, different weather, different kids, and added my father along the way.

I would not be what people call a “traditionalist.” In fact, some might believe me to be anti-traditional, but that’s not the case…at least not completely true. While I struggle with traditions like Christmas Eve, Easter services, etc., I have grown to love this Memorial Day tradition. While it didn’t stick with my daughter, it has seemed to stick with my son. He even mentioned it to me first this year. He knows that we put on a nice shirt, go to Rudy’s and then go pay respects to the families of the soldiers that have died in battle serving our country.

Forest Park East is our destination of choice for this service. It’s not the largest, it’s not the most professional, but it’s ours. It’s local, so it’s easy to get to and it’s become my staple. That small hill at the back of the cemetery lined with veteran headstones around a circle of five military flags surrounding the American flag has become something special for me on this day.

This morning, my 11 year old son shared the difference between Veteran’s Day and Memorial Day over our tacos. He wore his blue button-up shirt with a faded out star design and when he picked out his hat, he selected an honorary Texas Rangers hat for firefighters because it had red in it and somehow he knows that first responders and military personnel are good heroes to have.

I said in 2011 I felt like a mooch because I reap the benefits of the sacrifices made by so many without me ever sacrificing anything. Today is my eighth year and I still feel that way. As I stood and looked at the families sitting under the canopy, my heart hurt for their loss…because every one of them had felt the sting of loss.

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In 2012, I wrote about this veteran in the starched jeans and white shirt. Every single year, since then I’ve seen him. I still think about his memories. Today he held his 2 year old at the service.

Happy Memorial Day seems like an oxymoron for most veterans that have served in times of war. There’s not much to be happy about when they think about their comrades that never came home. At some point most grief turns from sadness to joy, not in the loss, but in the memories. For all of you out their that have lost loved ones in military service, I hope you find some joy today in your memories. If you can’t, that’s perfectly fine, too.

Another good day.