OPINION:
Everyday when I go running, I have the privilege of running past Arlington National Cemetery. I make my way past the Iwo Jima Memorial, turn left onto Marshall Drive, and then make a right onto VA-110, a road paralleling Section 52 of the Cemetery.
I generally prefer to run later at night; the sidewalks are less crowded, the traffic is infrequent, and there are fewer distractions overall. It is just me, my thoughts, and the pavement, with the only sound being the thump of my own footsteps on the asphalt.
There is, however, another benefit to running in Arlington when the rest of the world is asleep.
By the time I reach the Cemetery, other than the occasional passing car, there is not a soul around. I stop, silence my iPod, and take it all in; the pristine rows of white tombstones, the old wise trees hissing in the wind, and the stillness of the night create a soundless moment to reflect on what truly matters.
I am always close enough to read the names on the tombstones. Some have been interred more recently, others have been at rest for decades. Some had the joy of a long life, and, sadly, others were taken too far soon from circumstances outside of their control. Religious symbols adorn the top of each tombstone, and vary with each grave.
Every marker represents the life of a person, each with their unique memories, families, personalities, strengths, and weaknesses. The person buried under each tombstone had dreams, aspirations, visions for the future, and ideas of their own. They were Americans: some grew up in the deep South, others called the Great Plains home, while still others hailed from the vast expanse of the West. They were mechanics, farmers, doctors, lawyers, teachers, and business owners. On its hallowed grounds, the Cemetery is home to what was the best and brightest a free nation could offer.
Despite the differences between each person they all have one thing in common: they served.
Brothers and sisters in the fight for the survival of freedom, they served alongside one another and offered their life to the idea that the world is a better place when freedom is strong.
A few months back, I had a conversation with one of my law professors about honor, and what it means today. We spoke about how easy it is to forget about the wolf at the door, and agreed that the military is one of the last remaining institutions that places a high premium on honor; it is little wonder there is a sense of trust and security when a person in uniform is present.
This weekend we observe Memorial Day, a chance to remember those who gave their lives to continue this solemn tradition of honor. As our fallen heroes and heroines rest peacefully in God’s arms, we will celebrate together in the same ways we have for decades. There are barbeques to be had, swimming pools to occupy, and baseball games to attend. Children will run bare-foot through the backyard, parents will soak up a well-deserved day off work, and family dogs across the country will be dawdling suspiciously close to sizzling hamburgers.
And even though the wolf is growling at the door, like so many generations before us, we will not have to think about it. But I hope we do, because only then will we fully appreciate the white tombstones at Arlington, the crosses at Colleville-sur-Mer, the markers at Manila, and the thousands of other gravesites of American soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines all over the world.
Thomas N. Wheatley is a law student at George Mason University School of Law and a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army.
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