Memorial Day: Left Behind

Memorial Day is America’s time to honor soldiers that have given their lives for their country. We visit loved ones’ graves and place flowers and small flags at their headstones.

Flags are flown at half-staff until noon on Memorial Day.

Many people take a three-day weekend and spend times at the beach, or stay home and enjoy backyard barbecues.

Walk with me back to the American Civil War. A tremendous number of soldiers died for their country, leaving behind grieving family and friends to pick up the pieces and move on.

The following excerpt is from my Civil War novel, YOUR TRUE FRIEND ALWAYS, LOUISA, published by White Oaks Creations, captures feelings of fear and threat of loss:

"Today every room in our house was raked through. Our things were visciously ripped apart. The dark hour was without a moon and stars. No dogs were howling and there was no warm breath. Just cold frozen bodies like stiffened prey lying in wait for finality. Firearms and drygoods was the statement of their intent, but the possible eruption of death never stopped waving it’s venegeant hand.

Mother’s fearless soul rendered to me a safe funnel in which to sift through and seek refuge. This brave woman of skin and bones, like me, has a spine of fiber that proves tougher than steel, denying the frailities that belong to her, being human as I. The beating on the door hardly did more than move her in taking the necessary measures to assure a thorough search; less the threat of their return.

When it was over, my tight stone feelings began to smoulder. Their wicked flames had ignited a raging plea for the air of life in my lungs. Like putty bruised from insult and compressed by the weight of violent degradation, my soul screamed for the embrace of deliverance. The memories of their savagely ransacking the very space of our dear absent ones, penetrated the very consistency of my being. I felt like a helpless virgin being raped.

In our midst there are two very distinct wars. The one my father and brothers are fighting far away from the comforts of home, and the second being our camp within the walls of this wooden dwelling.

We have no protection from imposters, though the presence of a light burning in our living space is forever ablaze. Mother keeps the flame lit as a torch of hope that casts its light upon every mortal who parallels the glow. I know she often sees my tears and hears the cry in my heart. But not a flinch of distress is displayed on her countenance. She’s a soldier without boots, upholding the holy cause. Distant as she may be, mother’s ears are not deaf to the taunt thrown at us. But, gallant, she chooses not to shrink away from the call held within her bosom.

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