A late letter

Somewhere across this planet tonight, there's a mother missing her son. There's a wife missing her husband. There's a father missing his son. Sure, they may see each other via Skype or FaceTime. Sure, they may be able to make a call every now and again. All of those things are priceless for the family of a service member. Yet, you can't touch a video. For me, I've always been a fan of the written word. I keep letters in my scrapbooks, in old boxes, in books, and even in my wallet. I do this because a letter is sometimes my way of "feeling" a person's thoughts and the meditation of their heart. For many who have graced the battlefields, a letter means the very same thing. In John Michael Montgomery's song "Letters from Home" we find a soldier who keeps letters folded up in his shirt. Thousands of letters have surely been transported and kept safe in the very same manner. From the fields of Gettysburg, to the beaches of Normandy, to the Jungles of Vietnam to the desert sands of Iraq, letters from home have been a part of many service men and women's lives. But, today, on this Memorial Day, I thought about the letters that never made it because a service member gave the ultimate sacrifice before it could be received.

Often times on Memorial Day, we spend too much time thinking of the beach and not enough time thinking about the mother who would give anything to just be able to bake her son a batch of cookies on his return home, but she can't. The letter was too late.

Often times on Memorial Day, we spend too much time thinking of burgers on the grill and not enough time thinking about a dad who would love to sit down on Memorial Day and watch a baseball game with his son or go out in the yard and cut a flower for his daughter, but he can't. The letter was too late.

Often times on Memorial Day we spend too much time thinking about a day off from school or work and not enough time thinking about a kid who would love to spend a day off from school playing catch in the yard with his dad or helping mom plant flowers in her flower bed, but he can't. The letter was too late.

Often times on Memorial Day we spend too much time thinking about hosting a cookout for friends and family and not enough time thinking about a widowed wife who would give anything to host a cookout for friends and family with her husband.

I'm fortunate. I'm one of the lucky ones. You see, I come from a long line of servicemen and long line of letters that got there on time. My great-grandparents raised five boys- four of which were all service members and two of which saw combat. One of the four and also one of the two was my grandfather. He doesn't talk much about his time in Vietnam. I don't think it brings good memories for him and I can see why. However, despite not knowing much about his time there, I'm thankful that he got home. The land mines in that convoy just weren't meant to prevent him from coming home. The mortar attack in the area of Saigon just wasn't meant to prevent him from coming home. His brother, my great-uncle, was also lucky. As a helicopter mechanic, he often saw first hand the wreckage from downed aircraft in Vietnam- scenes that still haunt him today-but scenes that didn't prevent him from coming home. Because the letters made it for these two men, I have two of the finest examples of patriotism and true grit. They have both overcame obstacles in life- death of a son, financial and physical setbacks, and even cancer. I'm thankful to have them

The true reality of everything though, is that some letters didn't make it. Some men and women didn't leave the fields of Gettysburg, the beaches of Normandy, the jungles of Vietnam or the desert sands of Iraq. For every one that didn't leave, there's a family member back home who wishes they had.

So today, remember those who didn't get their letters because it was too late.

This song is for them:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X75sVw0xH2c

"Letters From Home"


My dearest son, it's almost June
I hope this letter catches up with you and finds you well
It's been dry but they're callin' for rain
And everything's the same ol' same in Johnsonville
Your stubborn ol' daddy ain't said too much
But I'm sure you know he sends his love
And she goes on, in a letter from home

[Chorus]
I hold it up and show my buddies
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy
And they all laugh like there's something funny
'bout the way I talk, when I say mama sends her best ya'll
I fold it up and put it in my shirt
Pick up my gun and get back to work
And it keeps me drivin' on, waitin' on
Letters from home

My dearest love, it's almost dawn
I've been lyin' here all night Long,
Wonderin' where you might be
I saw your mama and I showed her the ring
Man on the television said
Something so I couldn't sleep
But I'll be alright, I'm just missin' you
And this is me kissin' you
X's and O's in a letter from home

[Chorus]
I hold it up and show my buddies
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy
And they all laugh 'cause she calls me honey
But they take it hard, 'cause I don't read the good parts
I fold it up and put it in my shirt
Pick up my gun and get back to work
And it keeps me drivin' on, waitin' on
Letters from home

Dear son, I know I ain't written
And sittin' here tonight alone in the kitchen
It occurs to me I might not have said it, so I'll say it now
Son, you make me proud

[Chorus]
I hold it up and show my buddies
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy
But no one laughs ' cause there ain't nothin'
Funny when a soldier cries, and I just wipe my eyes
I fold it up and put in my shirt
Pick up my gun and get back to work
And it keeps me drivin' on, waitin' on,
Letters from home

Tonight, sometimes the true measure of man can be found in the fact that perhaps that letter never made it to him because he paid the cost.

That, my friends, is just a few thoughts from a very grateful and patriotic small town southern man!