As Memorial Day nears– once you choose hope…

Lilacs have such a distinct scent, I suppose you either love or hate it.

For me, it’s always been love.

This afternoon, my neighbor brought over a clutch from her bushes, and oh MY! So good to let this heady aroma flood the room. Soon it’ll fill every corner.

Kind of like a saying our daughter shared with me a few years back. Once you choose hope, anything is possible.

I’ve been thinking about World War II breaking out in Europe–how the chaos spread from country to country, crossing oceans, changing people’s lives. Can’t really imagine how it was for my mother, a high school girl, to watch her two older brothers go off to fight.

They were a poor family, and the younger brother was drafted before he even finished high school. Think of our barely-eighteen-year-old graduates today having to depart for battlefields afar. How hard would that be?

But when challenges mount, hope goes to work. Imagine the HOPES people cherished back then . . . for victory, for loved ones to return, for peaceful times to flourish again. That hope fueled great innovations and unparalleled production in the industrial world.

And it ignited a spirit of unity that we could certainly use more of today.

With Memorial Day nearing, it’s good to recall the sacrifices our grandparents and parents made–more than we can begin to comprehend. As we tote our blossoms to the cemetery this year, remembering means a lot.

14 thoughts on “As Memorial Day nears– once you choose hope…

  1. Thinking of the three brothers my mother lost during WWII. And that courageous little Grandma Leora lost three sons and was widowed between late 1943 and late 1946. lump in throat

  2. Hope. Yes. Hope kept my mom going every day for the 33 months her first born served onboard ships in the Pacific during that war. Hope that on that day the mail carrier would bring a letter. Hope that, when she saw a special delivery vehicle coming toward out house, tt wouldn ‘t stop at our house to deliver the much dreaded yellow envelope from the War Department telling her that her son would not return home. He came home, riddled with shrapnel, but alive. I can hardly see as I type this. Tears are streaming down my face at the memory of what Mom went through.

  3. Can’t say I fully understand the concept, but REMEMBERING has value. What was this experience like for you at the time?

    • I was six, seven, and eight years old. I clearly recall Mom watching for the mail carrier who didn’t bring letters for what I considered a long time, then he brought several. We sat quietly and watched Mom put them in order to read. When she finished, we reacted to her relief even if we didn’t understand. As for the special deliveries, I can still see her stiffen her shoulders, raise her chin, and face the door until the vehicle passed, then I felt her relax. I relaxed too. I’ve often heard the expression, If Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. That sums up my recollections. I didn’t have to understand, I simply reacted to her. Only after I grew up did I understand the strain she lived under.

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