A soldier stood alone among headstones in a south Arkansas cemetery playing “Taps” on Saturday, while another waited by an American flag-draped casket that sat in front of a mourning family.
Soon the two soldiers, both with the Arkansas Army National Guard, gathered at the casket to remove the flag, fold it and hand it to a deceased veteran’s youngest daughter.
As I looked on from just outside the mourners’ tent, I experienced a very peculiar reaction to what I beheld. I smiled.
“This is how I wish every American veteran had the opportunity to go out,” I thought. And I bet the dearly departed would have agreed.
The man in the casket was my grandfather, an 89-year-old veteran who died of congestive heart failure last Thursday. He was married to my grandmother for more than 63 years before she died in 2011. Together, they raised three daughters — including my mother, the youngest, who received the flag — and enjoyed grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They attended the same little country church for decades.
Unfortunately, not every veteran has that story. Some die in combat, their flags presented to their young spouses or even their parents. Others find it so difficult to re-enter society — due to post-traumatic stress disorder, depression or other factors — that they take their own lives after returning from combat.
So I did smile, thinking about my grandfather’s darn good run at life and proud to see the National Guard take time to honor his service. I also offered my solemn wishes that more veterans would see this type of end rather than one more tragic.
But later that day, something happened that made me feel a little less closure than I thought I had.
My mom, my wife and I were sitting in my parents’ living room when my wife asked about my grandfather’s military service.
“He served right after World War II with stabilization and clean-up efforts in Japan,” I said quickly and confidently.
“No,” my mom replied. “It was cleanup after World War II, but he served in Europe.”
It occurred to me I didn’t know much about my grandfather’s service, and what little I did know, I had misremembered. I only asked him once or twice when I was little, and to be honest, I probably wasn’t listening too much to the answer. I certainly didn’t ask any followup questions. As I got older, I never discussed it with him at all. No interviews, no casual conversations, nothing. It just didn’t come up.
What’s particularly strange about this is I’m a World War II history junkie. I’ve read several books and taken classes on that era. I’ve watched dozens of documentaries (the day he died I was amid my fourth or fifth viewing of the “World War II in Color” series), and I’ve interviewed numerous veterans of that and other wars during my journalism career. I just never took the time to learn about my own grandfather.
There’s no particular reason why. I had plenty of time and opportunity. I just didn’t do it. Maybe I took him for granted. Maybe I thought, since he didn’t bring it up, he didn’t want to talk about it. Who knows? But one thing is for sure. The opportunity is now lost.
Veterans, particularly those from the World War II era, are vanishing at an ever-rapid pace. These men are heroes who were either willing or actually did risk their lives for our freedoms. We need their memories, and their stories are worth our time. If you have a veteran in your family, don’t let time run out before you learn as much as you can about their service from the primary source.
In other words, don’t be like me.
Zack Plair is the managing editor for The Dispatch.
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