Perspectives on Memorial Day
Posted: Sun May 25, 2025 11:12 am
This was sometimes my job in the Army, and I offer this for why I hold Memorial Day as more than just an opportunity for drinking, barbecuing, and discounts. Here is my story:
A lone bugler in dress blues stood atop this hill, on the left, beneath a tree, far from the ceremony below. Someone had decided that was the best place for a bugler to stand. Day after day, she watched a parade of identical flag-draped caskets, identical ceremonies, identical gun salutes taking place below, waiting for her cue. Only the faces of the grieving families changed, everything else remained the same. Each day, when the moment came, her bugle sounded a mournful salute to a life cut tragically and needlessly short, the echoes of her horn punctuated by the wracking sobs of a family wondering why. Her bugle gave them no answers, only acknowledgement of their loss. The folded flag was handed over, and the ceremony repeated again, 58,300 times.
Sometimes, the dead were the lucky ones. Those who lived carried heavy burdens; alone, because we abandoned them once they came home. The maimed. The haunted. The homeless. But we honor them with Memorial Day. And a white sale. We still cannot answer why, so we don't even ask anymore. And the ceremonies continue across the decades. Since we have no answers, we pretend the holiday has meaning.
But the bugler knows.

A lone bugler in dress blues stood atop this hill, on the left, beneath a tree, far from the ceremony below. Someone had decided that was the best place for a bugler to stand. Day after day, she watched a parade of identical flag-draped caskets, identical ceremonies, identical gun salutes taking place below, waiting for her cue. Only the faces of the grieving families changed, everything else remained the same. Each day, when the moment came, her bugle sounded a mournful salute to a life cut tragically and needlessly short, the echoes of her horn punctuated by the wracking sobs of a family wondering why. Her bugle gave them no answers, only acknowledgement of their loss. The folded flag was handed over, and the ceremony repeated again, 58,300 times.
Sometimes, the dead were the lucky ones. Those who lived carried heavy burdens; alone, because we abandoned them once they came home. The maimed. The haunted. The homeless. But we honor them with Memorial Day. And a white sale. We still cannot answer why, so we don't even ask anymore. And the ceremonies continue across the decades. Since we have no answers, we pretend the holiday has meaning.
But the bugler knows.
