Hope on This Day of Remembrance

“Black Tears“, the surname for oil that seeps from the bow of the USS Arizona, resting where she fell on the floor Pearl Harbor.     I knew about the oil seep before I took the journey to pay homage to the  hero’s below, but there’s something about seeing it that silenced me.  I stared as the tiny bubbles of oil slipped to the surface every few seconds and connected to the a prismed slick that ebbs and flows with the movement of the water. Nothing contains the slick yet it doesn’t appear to drift far from its source. It seems to cling to the gun turret, rusted and weathered from its years of service as the headstone of this, the watery grave of those who served.      

USS Arizona

 

The slicks gentle movement on the surface was mesmerizing; haunting and somehow sacred. Once I found myself staring it was hard to look away. How long is long enough to be silent and be mindful of those who gave all there was to give? Is it five minutes? ten minutes? Should I have spent the day? How long is long enough to show due respect for the courage of the ones who serve? How long is long enough to express the inexpressible gratitude I feel for the ones braver than I, who run towards what I run from? I don’t know. I wish I did.       

I grew up in New England. Her highways and byways are speckled with monuments and memorials to those who fought for all I have. In years gone by, their majesty has been dwarfed in some ways by the sheer magnitude of the buildings that grew around them. Yet day after day, year after year I drove, biked, walked and ran right past them, never giving them a second thought or a second look. For several years I was in a marching band and marched in many a memorial day parade, yet I felt no connection to the purpose of the day. But those “Black Tears“, man, I got it. I get it.           

 At a time when it seems the world is unbelievably once again at war, re-learning the lessons of the generations gone by, this day of remembrance gives me great pause.  I thought about the oil slick in Pearl Harbor. I thought about the ones who sank, the ones who fell, the ones who ran, the ones fought. I thought about all who have fought since. I thought  about all who are fighting now. All who are guarding. I thought about all those separated from the ones who hold them dear. I thought about the ones who come home and struggle to step in time and connect to the very life that they fought to come home to. I thought about the advertisement I saw in the paper for 50% off the triangle shadow box designed to display the flag and medals that keep company the ones who exist in the faint echos of their beloved but fallen hero.           

This day I feel a profound connection to the legacy of my freedom. I moved with an immeasurable sense of gratitude in my gut. I felt a part of something much bigger than I could manage to express with words. It is amazing, this place I call home. It is unspeakable the magnitude of sacrifice of those who came before me. Those heroes, who fought for me long before I was born. The ones who serve and protect now so my lungs can breathe free.         

I have the spirit of a pacifist, yet I am accutely aware that my luxury in choosing that  is because someone before me fought for its possibility.         

From the depth of my heart, I am truly grateful to all who suit up. The heroes. The ones whose sacrifice and service afford me a life, where every day, is a day that holds hope.         

– here’s to the heroes and here’s to hope.

revised and reposted in honor of today, the day of memory and anniversery of the bombing of Pearl Harbor