Memorial Day: A Moment of Reflection

In 6th grade, I recited In Flanders Fields as part of a student program of words, song, and dance titled "Hands Across the Sea." Major John McCrae's poem remains one of the few poems I can recite without hesitation.


In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset blow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

My recent genealogy research has focused on my Irish grandfather. Daniel B. O'Connor and his brothers were part of the wave of Fitchburg (MA) men who enlisted to fight in the 'war to end all wars.' Every day, a city's pride in her "sons" - recruitment, departure, stories of the 'boys' and too often, the sad details when one paid the ultimate price - was shared in the local newspaper. For decades, my grandfather placed small flags at the graves of American servicemen to honor their service and dedication. My grandfather's faith in our country and his pride as he raised the American flag at his home are two of the strongest memories I have of him.