I will not wish you a happy Memorial Day, but I will wish you a memorable one. For I do remember:
A great- great, great Uncle, William Sudduth, died at Raisin River, War of 1812.
My great-great grandfather, Lucilious Pate, came home in 1865 to find his wife and family gone, his younger brother, Wesley had drowned when an army steamboat caught fire, and another brother, James, had died in battle.
My great grandfather, Thomas Gillenwaters, came home in 1865 to find his father dead, his family starving, and a brother whose name I cannot recall had died in battle.
My great-great grandparents, William and Mary Greenfield, were murdered in 1863 by guerillas near Brandenburg, Kentucky.
My great-great grandfather, Samuel Anderson, made it home in 1865, but his health and lungs were ruined.
My grandmother’s cousin, Beanie (Bennie) Short died in 1865, a Confederate, but I do not judge him.
Clarence Dean woke up in 1945 in a battlefield morgue. He died in his 90’s, but would never talk about it.
James Fugit had his legs crushed in 1945. Doctors told him he would never walk again, but 6 months later, he walked out of a military hospital and lived another 60 years.
I have gone to school or worked with countless people, some of whom likely died in Vietnam or the Middle East, and they should not be forgotten even though I have lost track of them.
To all of the above and countless others who gave their lives, I salute you.