Please take time to to consider and honor......

the many people who have died so we here in the USA can live in freedom each day. Several years ago I went to Washington DC to watch Rolling Thunder. What is Rolling Thunder, you ask? It is a motorcycle convergence on the nation's capital city to remind all Americans of those who lost their lives in war and of those who never returned from those wars because they were and are still unaccounted for. Some were MIA, some were POWs.

Taking that trip to DC to watch that event was perhaps one of the memorable days of my life as a thinking adult especially since I began the day with a trip to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Below are my reflections of that day that I wrote after being there. (Actually, this writing has been posted on a veteran website with a pen name I used).

The Silence and The Thunder

It was blistering hot and muggy. Moisture oozed from every pore in my face and the face of everyone else in that crowd. We stood on the steps facing the Tomb. It holds the bones of men who gave their lives in service to their country and whose names are known only to God. Their identities will never be known to man. We who sat were young, old, of various heritage and many languages. Some came from far away, some from the city just over the bridge. Our differences were there for all to see and yet one compelling component bound us together as one. The silence. It rolled over everyone who approached the steps and took their place in the crowd. It carried to restless children who though hot and tired were compelled by the solemnity to watch in utter quietness. Babies in strollers only let out a brief, muted wail as though even they in their infancy knew that they were in the presence of greatness. The silence deepened as the guards began their honored ritual of change. The click of their heels sounded like gunshot in the backdrop of silence. The crowd moved not, spoke not, it seemed almost breathed not. The silence was one of awe-filled respect. There laid men who had shared their lifeblood and had given their all. We in the crowd seemed to know of our mere mortality in the face of such greatness. They deserved our silence, as words could not define their sacrifice, their courage, their commitment. Talking would have been noise, denigrating and demeaning. The tombs said it all. In utter silence, we watched as the guards completed their march. Respect could ask no less.

It was still beastly as I stood on the bridge and in the distance saw the bright lights of the cavalry. They came preceded by those who have sworn to enforce the law. They came with a rumble, with a roar, with a thundering reminder that we owe those men and women who go off to service our thanks, our commitment and our remembrance of them always. They came in wave upon wave, bikes with leather-clad drivers who carried the flame of those who have fallen and those for whom there has been no accounting. They came with a rumble, a thunder, a roar to remind us that freedom is never free, that duty often means death, and that we as a nation have our liberties today because of those who have sacrificed their own. They rode with honor, with pride, with purpose. They rode with a mission. And in the thunder I heard the respect and honor that the pipes cried to communicate." Let us never forget", they roared. "Let us honor those who have served" they called to a seemingly indifferent nation. "Let us respect our flag, our country, our heritage and our people". Rolling Thunder, rumbling to shake the conscience of a people that seems so easily to forget those who have given their blood and on whose backs this country has been built.

Then I saw them up close and personal. These men had been there. They saw the jungles; they heard the bombs, they served their country. They still have the memories and weep as they walk the Wall. They know the stories of those names forever etched in stone….who they were and how they died. As I watched on that sweltering day, I saw clearly heroes among us. Beneath the gray of the hair and aging of the flesh, I saw the steel, the resolve, the mettle of real men. I saw the strength of character that had caused them to give their personal liberty for their country. I saw a certain confidence, maybe yes, even a swagger in their walk. They know who they are; they know what they are. They know what they did not do and what they did do. They know their own and they are proud. I saw handshakes, hugs, and nods. There was an unspoken communication that those of us on the outside cannot share….only those who are part of that brotherhood can understand. They are the vets and they are proud. In addition, perhaps what in my mind came to be the most amazing paradox was that though their own fellow citizens, their own society mocked, scorned and spit upon many of them, they are still the vanguard of the colors. They honor the flag and they know the meaning of liberty. Wounds are still there but they move beyond to the enduring legacy they know they have left. Theirs is a legacy of character, of strength, of sacrifice. In their gathering, they prove the great fiber of the country. We have become the nation that we are because of men who gave and asked nothing in return. We are a nation with protected freedoms because of the Unknown Soldier, the wounded soldier, the POW, the one still unaccounted for and who perhaps will remain ever in obscurity, and the vet who lives and works and moves incognito among us.

In the silence, let us ponder, and with thunder, let us remember.

God bless America.