I Was an American Soldier

I was an American soldier.

You don’t know my name, but I died for you.

On the day I left home, I held my childhood sweetheart tightly as I felt tears run down my neck. Bawling, my son ran to his room. He didn’t want me to leave. My little girl wouldn’t let go of me, clinging to my chest, screaming “No! No! No!”. They made me promise to be safe and come home to them.

I couldn’t keep that promise.

I did come home, but in a coffin draped with an American flag. That same flag that I saluted; and pledged my loyalty to; and gave my life for. The flag that represents the hopes and dreams of people around the world. The hopes and dreams of freedom. Of a better life. Of a better tomorrow.

At my memorial, they handed that flag to my spouse. It sits on our tiny mantel, in our tiny little house, where we made our plans for a tomorrow that would never happen for us, so it can happen for you.

I was an American soldier.

When I joined, I tried to explain to my mom and dad why it was so important to me; why their little baby they’d raised so lovingly was called to do things they couldn’t understand; to put myself in harm’s way for people whose names I didn’t even know, and who, like you, would never know my name.

I’ll never forget the sorrowful, frightened tears in my mom’s eyes as her child left for war, or the sad, tired look of pride in my dad’s. In muffled cries, they held each other tightly as I walked, for the last time, out of the kitchen door, and down the walk, and on to destiny’s bugle call. My old dog tried his best to follow me, but they gently called him back with a broken voice that revealed their own uncertainty: “Don’t worry, boy; it’s only for a little while. Back before you know it.” But I wasn’t.

I was an American soldier.

So, on this Memorial Day, go to the lake, eat hotdogs, grab a cold beer. As you do, I’ll ask you just one small favor in remembrance of me: Take a minute to look around you. Look at your friends, and your family, and appreciate the freedoms you have. Because I’d love to be with my family and my friends, by the lake, eating hotdogs, and having a cold beer like I used to. But I can’t.

I’m lying silent in a windswept field with my brothers and sisters in arms, in rows of white crosses, and wreaths that mark this day of remembrance, this Memorial Day.

I take solace in knowing that when that kind person laid my wreath today, they took a moment to think about me, and the sacrifices I made; that my family made; and just for a moment, as they laid my wreath, they read my tombstone, and remembered that I died for them. And they knew my name.

I was an American soldier.