I was out tonight watering my newly planted flowerbed when I came across the lilac bush that I planted two years ago in memory of my Grandmother, who loved lilacs. All of a sudden, the import of this Memorial Day weekend crashed into my mind, and I hearkened back to a day 22 years ago.
That day started at 4:00 am with a drive through the narrow streets of Manila, Philippines to the gates of the World War II Cemetery and Memorial. I remember to this day, the surge of pride, sorrow and wonderment, as the rays of sunrise sliced through the mist to kiss the tops of the 17,204 crosses there, marking the graves of boys my age and younger who had died in the Philippines and New Guinea so that freedom could live.
But the most powerful part of that morning came 30 minutes later as we walked among the graves.
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I was walking next to Robert Sackley, my advisor in the Philippines as we approached the portion where the Australian troops were buried. To me, the humbling part of that walk was the sheer number of graves throughout the cemetery. But to him, these were his friends.
You see, President Sackley had served in one of Australia's elite fighting forces during the War. He and his compatriots would be dropped behind enemy lines where they would live with the natives while gathering intelligence and harassing the enemy. When the regular troops arrived, his unit would be shipped out to start the process all over again. The day McArthur said "I will return" Robert Sackley already had. His war was bloody, lonely, and continuous.
As we walked he would stop, shed a tear, then tell me about an adventure, a laugh, or a battle shared with the young man memorialized by a particular cross. Then two minutes later, another cross would catch his attention...the stories and tears continued for 2 hours.
That day war became much more than the history, strategy and tactics that it had always meant for me - it became human.
Of the 1000 men who started the war in his fighting force, every one of whom he had trained with, lived with, or fought with at some time during the war, only 34 survived to see its end.
He never went back to that cemetery. Neither have I - the memories are just too powerful.
To all who have fought and died to protect this great land and the freedom of people in other nations who needed your strong arm to overcome oppression, we honor you, your families and your sacrifice.
May we never forget...
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