When I was young, Veterans Day meant nothing more to me than a date on the calendar. It typically came with little fanfare in my world: living in the Midwest, there weren’t many parades in the beginning gloom of winter to mark the occasion. It was a holiday—if one could call it that, which I didn’t when I was a child and somewhat surly teen—nestled between the more exciting celebrations of Halloween and Thanksgiving, not to mention the looming grandfather of all festivities, Christmas. School didn’t receive a recess for it, presents weren’t given (the ultimate mark of respect, in my opinion) and the only people who seemed to care at all were bank staff, postal employees or old people. I barely noticed it, and if I had been asked to tell the difference between Veterans Day and Memorial Day, I would have been hard pressed to do so, other than to note that the latter was regarded with fonder cheer overall as the unofficial beginning of summer in a state that valued such a herald as much of a precious marker as any anniversary of note.
It wasn’t until I grew into adulthood that I realized the narrowness of such a view. Still, even after the narcissism of my youth had begun to fade, I didn’t give it undue attention. The news anchors would announce that it was Veterans Day again, and images of servicemen dutifully dressing in their uniforms from many years past would flash on the screen. I would pause over my coffee, trying to imagine the wars they fought in but largely failing to connect to their struggles over the ocean of time that has passed since World War II, Korea or Vietnam. Then the chipper newswoman in bright red lipstick would remind us that all government offices would be closed to honor the day. “Oh, I forgot to mail the bill to the electric company again,” I would sigh, taking a sip of coffee, my short reverie for the war over. “I’ll have to wait for tomorrow.”
This was the only meaning for me in Veterans Day until 2020, when my third son joined the Army. His enlistment was concurrent with a new, worldwide pandemic, which came to shape all our lives. At that time, there had of course been wars, many wars. Human history is shaped by war. Have we ever been without it? Yet it has never impacted me, and no war has mattered much personally to me until Russia invaded Ukraine in February of 2022 and my son was shipped to a timezone that kept him awake while I was sleeping. As if I could ever sleep again. Suddenly, war mattered very much to me. It became personal and frightening, and the events of the news weren’t just headlines to me. They were ways to conceive of what might be happening not on a global scale but to my son, for whom contact was suddenly not instant anymore. I had grown used to the ease of modern communication, and I had been lulled into a false sense of security in raising my children: they had never been more than a text or phone call away. Now, on the other side of the world in a situation where communication was largely forbidden or even not possible for large stretches of time—the most important of times—I shared an uneasy kinship with countless families who had done this kind of waiting since time immemorial. And I woke to an understanding that had eluded me until then: the difference in Veterans Day and Memorial Day and exactly what we—I—am truly grateful for.
For far too long I had thanked veterans for their service without understanding the cost to them. While I knew, I didn’t fully fathom it. How could I? Unless and until one has had to sacrifice the years of their lives and their freedom to protect this country, they can’t begin to appreciate the selflessness and the toll of those years and the ones long afterwards. This is something I came to recognize after 2020, and certainly after 2022. Even though I haven’t served, watching one son deploy and another enlist in the Air Force has taught me pride, fear, worry, enormous thankfulness and whole overwhelming host of kaleidoscopic emotions. Standing sentinel as a mother of a veteran and an active duty enlisted soldier has changed me. I have had to learn the lessons of profound gratitude for our veterans the hard way. Once learned, I will never forget them.
I hope that most of you didn’t need to come by these lessons they way that I did, and that you learned to appreciate our veterans in a less personal way. When I was struggling most and fear ruled my life, I looked around through tear-drenched eyes and saw before me statues and flags to our armed forces and soldiers. I had been blind to them before I needed them, but in that need they revealed themselves as having been there all along: we do care for our veterans and we show it in almost every American town, no matter how small. There is usually some plaque or dedication posted to our veterans and how much we owe them. This comforted me then as it does now, and my former selfishness shames me. I speak about the honor our veterans deserve, on this day and on every day, and now when I thank a veteran for their service it is with my full and sincere gratitude, knowing how much they really gave. They are someone’s son or daughter, someone’s father and kin. As my sons have served and that service has cost them and our family, I now understand that price and salute all veterans today for their sacrifice. Today is more than a postal holiday for me and for them, it is a day of profound gratitude. Thank you all veterans for your service.
