Next Wednesday is November 11 ^th —Veterans Day.  There’ll be parades and flags flying and governmental agencies closed.  There’ll be Facebook posts about honoring them and folks changing their profile pictures (me included) to a parent or sibling in uniform.  But have you ever really thought about what they endured to reach “veteran” status?

My great uncle, Earl Columbus Strawn, was ordered to report for duty on October 9, 1917. He had registered on June 7 ^th of that year; when it came time to sign his card the best he could do was make his mark.  Being a farmer his education up until that point had come from experience rather than books.  He was one of the original Doughboys, trained by General John Pershing himself, and he remembered as they filed past him one fateful September day, that the general stood with his head bowed, tears streaming down his cheeks.  Pershing knew that most of them would not return.  My great uncle was one of the lucky few, although the shrapnel that struck him in the face cost him one of his eyes.  At least he lived.

The end of the war allowed him to return to Hardin County, back to the farm, back to life as it once had been. Like most of those who fought and survived, he rarely spoke of it.  But I wonder how often he lay awake at night, knowing that if he closed his eyes he would return to the battlefield.  How often did he bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat because his dreams were all too real?  How could anyone watch as his friends fell around him, knowing that at any moment that same fate could be his, knowing that his return home could be in a casket . . . if he even did go home again?  So many of our soldiers never made it back and were buried where they died.  And so many who did survive were never the same again.

Jim Garey worked our visitations in Savannah for several years before retiring from his part time job with us and moving to Jackson. Until the Jackson Sun published his story, I never knew that he almost lost his life in a Japanese bombing raid while in Lae, New Guinea.  His helmet falling over his face provided just enough oxygen for him to survive while the others dug him out from under tons of debris.  Despite being buried alive and suffering numerous cuts, bruises, and broken ribs, he was back in combat four weeks later.

These veterans and so many others lived to tell their stories but would not until years later. It was too horrific when it was fresh; there had to be distance and time before they could even allow themselves to remember.  It was how they coped with the hell they had endured.

My father served in the Army during the Korean War, achieving the rank of Tech Sergeant and escaping deployment overseas because, of all things, he could type. If that one skill had not been his, it is possible I might not be here today.

As we approach Veterans Day, I hope we’ll all take a moment to reflect on the sacrifices our military personnel have made and continue to make. Not all veterans have faced the heat of battle, found themselves standing next to Death while fighting for their lives—and for us.  But those who escaped the direct confrontation still knew it was a possibility, and they still gave of themselves willingly and with honor.  Make it a point to tell the veterans you know how much you appreciate that willingness and the service they have given.  And breathe a prayer that the day will come when those sacrifices will no longer be required.

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