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Recently, I received the book THE CODE OF LOVE written by Andro Linklater.
Although I haven't had a chance to read more than the first few pages, the information
that came with the book said that it was the true story of a man in the RAF, the woman he
falls in love with, and how he gets called to a distant land to serve his country within a
few weeks of their meeting.
While fighting, he gets shot down and then is captured by the enemy. Soon after, he is
sent to a POW camp, where he endures enormous pain, humiliation, and suffering. He knows
that keeping a diary in a POW camp is dangerous but he also wants to keep his sanity and
write to the love of his life. So, as the days slowly drag on, he writes in an elaborate
mathematical code in the hopes that someday she will be able to read it.
Starting to read this book during these swiftly passing by spring days --- this story
about love, war, and sacrifice --- brings to my mind that we are approaching another
Memorial Day.
It is on this day that we remember the men and women who have died fighting in wars
defending their country. We mourn the veterans who mostly remain anonymous, except to the
families who loved them. Sacrifice doesn't mean anything without our collective
remembrance.
What does Memorial Day mean to you? I asked some of my online friends what Memorial Day
means to them and I had some pretty interesting conversations and received some very
unique answers to observances of Memorial Day.
One of them said that to her Memorial Day means "parades, flowers, and visiting the
graveyard with family." "A day of reflection and remembrance for those friends
both known and unknown who gave their lives for the rights I cherish today," solemnly
wrote a Navy veteran. Another person said that "Memorial Day means an outing with my
family."
Being married to a veteran, Memorial Day is always a sacred day to honor those who
sacrificed their lives in serving their country so that we may enjoy freedom. It is a day
we gather with family and friends on our town's Main Street to watch the parade,
regardless of whether it is raining or the sun is shining or on those rare occasions when
it is snowing. We stand along the sidewalk and curbing to watch the floats glide slowly by
and the veterans bursting with pride in their perfectly pressed uniforms marching along in
synchronized step. An old veteran slowly walks among the crowd, in one hand he holds a
handful of bright red poppies and in the other a container for collecting the quarters. I
ask for three poppies and drop a few bills into the can.
After the parade passes by, my husband and I drive to the cemetery. I see the rows and
rows of graves, they go as far as my eyes can see. There are many graves that have flowers
on them, and the ones that have flags fluttering in the breeze signify that a veteran is
buried beneath. We place the flags and flowers that we brought with us on the graves of
the veterans in our family plot. I see my husband on hands and knees pulling at some long
stray grasses that cover a part of the headstone. When he is satisfied with his handiwork,
he stiffly rises and we slowly walk to our car. In the distance I hear the clear, pure,
haunting notes of a single trumpet playing Taps, as the sun fades behind the majestic
pines surrounding the cemetery and sets on another Memorial Day.
--- Susanne H. Seppo
(c)
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