In Remembrance - D. C. adventure

It was a somber day and how could it not be when you are in Arlington Cemetery? The rows and rows of white marble tomb stones; each craved with a different name, years of birth and death - simple and ordinary - James E. Smith, 1909 - 1949. I couldn't help but wonder how many stories were shorten abruptly; how many lives had taken a different turn and how much memories have faded over the years and how many hair have turned gray in the longing for the dead? We walked around the beautiful landscape in reverence; watched the military practice in front of the Eternal Flame where J. F. K. was laid to rest; found the tomb of the unknown soldier and watched this Marine walked 12 steps over the right side of the tomb, stood still for 15 seconds and walked another 12 steps back to the left.

The hill was peaceful, the grass green and lush and the sky was bright and blue with the promise of another sunny day with heat and humidity. We hiked up to General Lee's mansion (it was his wife's property really - she was the granddaughter of Martha Cutis Washington.) and the view from the hilltop was breathtaking. It is not difficult to recognize the landmarks of the city, the capitol of the nation. A nation "...under G-d, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." What a grand and admirable concept; and what a tremendous sacrifice goes with it.

I found my steps heavy with melancholy and my heart ladened with sadness remembering the War memorials that we visited yesterday: the WWII memorial, the Korean War memorial, the Vietnam War memorial. LCG was able to find the name of her father's childhood friend who died in Vietnam and KG found the tribute sign for the Battle of the Bulge where her late father was a part of at the WWII memorial. The stories did not end with the departed; their family, children, friends, carried on - life goes on - and these memorials were built because the living need to be reassured that the death was not in vain; the war was necessary and that the dead die heroes. Or is it?

At the WWWII memorial, I lingered at the Pacific side. Remembering the story of my maternal grandfather who was drafted by the Japanese government and fought for the Japanese army and ended up missing (and presumed dead) in the Philippines. Remembering my dad's experience of being kidnapped at age 12, becoming boy-soilder carrying a gun and fighting a war which he had no concept nor understanding of. His father had no idea where he was and what had become of him. The last sentence my paternal grandfather uttered was "Is Xaio-Jung-Ze home?" These people of mine, some of them had never touched a gun or igniting a bomb, went through the torment and horrid of the war. War is an ugly thing and sometimes I think the death is the easier part of it. The aftermath of the ones who have survived war is the bitter fruit to swallow. How it altered one's mind/thoughts/life is something no research or study could put it to certain terms.  These revenants of the wars are living among us and no memorials grand enough to bring them back to life.

These are my thoughts.