Monday, May 28, 2012
As usual, today’s Memorial Day service at the Soldiers Home was filled with tradition, ceremony, music, tributes and, of course (since I was there), tears. But this year seemed much more emotional than most—through an entire range of emotions:
Heartwarming: Every year several residents actually participate in the ceremony, and this year I knew them all. I was so incredibly proud and impressed—I’ve always known these people are inherently strong and courageous, but it takes a special strength and courage to take the podium in a crowded Chilson Hall. My wonderful friend Ray McDade led the Pledge of Allegiance confidently and admirably, and Harold Moore dressed in his ritual best to read Roll Call, the agonizingly long list of residents who died in the past year.
Heartbreaking: I knew way too many people in the annual Roll Call—way too many friends. I still cannot imagine a world—or even a Bingo room—without Ken Levick, Cal Bush, Ann Lawson , James Merz, Dee Jay Hankins or Danny White. Of course, I still cannot imagine a world without my irreplaceable friend Mike Marquie, and he was on last year’s Roll Call.
Unexpectedly funny: The JROTC Color Guard impressively delivered the flags to the front of the hall for The Star Spangled Banner, but then ten-hutted them away a little too early. The emcee (the Home’s director of nursing, filling in for a sickly superintendent) had to call back the boys, and the flags, for the Pledge.
Unexpectedly sweet: My teenage son, Carson, and his friend Mychal drove out on their own to help—and they were a huge help. They wheeled over residents from the nursing center, manned a punch bowl apiece at the refreshment table and helped clean up and stow supplies—all respectfully and gracefully.
Sweet, but not as unexpected: One of Carson’s transported residents was Dick, who was confused about the service and his role in it. “What do I do now?” he asked me when I introduced him to Carson. “We just watch,” I told Dick, but he wasn’t buying it. I had to head back to the refreshment table, but Matt, who’s been calling Bingo numbers so well lately, stepped up, squatted down and took charge. He sat with Dick for a long time, offering support and comfort and company.
Almost too moving: I always cry during “Taps,” but today the Puyallup Valley Community Band bugle sounded more perfectly resonant and beautifully perfect than I can ever remember, and I had to reach across Carson to grab a tear-dabbing napkin. I always cry during the military songs, too, as residents and guests stand for their branches of service, but today there was so much support in the room, it was overwhelming. One woman helped an older man stand and then stood lovingly leaned into him with her arm around his back—twice. Another man was clutched around his back by a young boy. Kathleen from Activities braced Royal as she stood, and a man I’ve never met helped Ray McDade hold his ballcap high during the Navy song.
Rewarding: Back at the refreshment table in the back of the hall, Doreen and I each took charge of a cake (her, carrot; me, chocolate) while the boys made and ladled punch. The post-ceremony rush kept us on our toes but also gave us a chance to see, and serve, all those people whose backs we’d been watching through the service. I said hi to Walt and Doreen, the sweet couple I’d met at the Volunteer Lunch, and Ray came back just to talk golf with Carson.
Reaffirming: Contrary to protocol, the flags could not be retired, the emcee announced, because the JROTC had left. So the ceremony ended after the heartfelt benediction, and more people lingered than left. Faith showed me her program, where she’d highlighted her husband Ben’s name on the Roll Call. I hugged Ray goodbye and told him how well he’d done with the Pledge. And then I kissed Carson and Mychal in genuine gratitude.
Memorial Day honors the dead, of course, but there’s still a lot of life at the Soldiers Home—and still a lot of service to give.
As usual, today’s Memorial Day service at the Soldiers Home was filled with tradition, ceremony, music, tributes and, of course (since I was there), tears. But this year seemed much more emotional than most—through an entire range of emotions:
Heartwarming: Every year several residents actually participate in the ceremony, and this year I knew them all. I was so incredibly proud and impressed—I’ve always known these people are inherently strong and courageous, but it takes a special strength and courage to take the podium in a crowded Chilson Hall. My wonderful friend Ray McDade led the Pledge of Allegiance confidently and admirably, and Harold Moore dressed in his ritual best to read Roll Call, the agonizingly long list of residents who died in the past year.
Heartbreaking: I knew way too many people in the annual Roll Call—way too many friends. I still cannot imagine a world—or even a Bingo room—without Ken Levick, Cal Bush, Ann Lawson , James Merz, Dee Jay Hankins or Danny White. Of course, I still cannot imagine a world without my irreplaceable friend Mike Marquie, and he was on last year’s Roll Call.
Unexpectedly funny: The JROTC Color Guard impressively delivered the flags to the front of the hall for The Star Spangled Banner, but then ten-hutted them away a little too early. The emcee (the Home’s director of nursing, filling in for a sickly superintendent) had to call back the boys, and the flags, for the Pledge.
Unexpectedly sweet: My teenage son, Carson, and his friend Mychal drove out on their own to help—and they were a huge help. They wheeled over residents from the nursing center, manned a punch bowl apiece at the refreshment table and helped clean up and stow supplies—all respectfully and gracefully.
Sweet, but not as unexpected: One of Carson’s transported residents was Dick, who was confused about the service and his role in it. “What do I do now?” he asked me when I introduced him to Carson. “We just watch,” I told Dick, but he wasn’t buying it. I had to head back to the refreshment table, but Matt, who’s been calling Bingo numbers so well lately, stepped up, squatted down and took charge. He sat with Dick for a long time, offering support and comfort and company.
Almost too moving: I always cry during “Taps,” but today the Puyallup Valley Community Band bugle sounded more perfectly resonant and beautifully perfect than I can ever remember, and I had to reach across Carson to grab a tear-dabbing napkin. I always cry during the military songs, too, as residents and guests stand for their branches of service, but today there was so much support in the room, it was overwhelming. One woman helped an older man stand and then stood lovingly leaned into him with her arm around his back—twice. Another man was clutched around his back by a young boy. Kathleen from Activities braced Royal as she stood, and a man I’ve never met helped Ray McDade hold his ballcap high during the Navy song.
Rewarding: Back at the refreshment table in the back of the hall, Doreen and I each took charge of a cake (her, carrot; me, chocolate) while the boys made and ladled punch. The post-ceremony rush kept us on our toes but also gave us a chance to see, and serve, all those people whose backs we’d been watching through the service. I said hi to Walt and Doreen, the sweet couple I’d met at the Volunteer Lunch, and Ray came back just to talk golf with Carson.
Reaffirming: Contrary to protocol, the flags could not be retired, the emcee announced, because the JROTC had left. So the ceremony ended after the heartfelt benediction, and more people lingered than left. Faith showed me her program, where she’d highlighted her husband Ben’s name on the Roll Call. I hugged Ray goodbye and told him how well he’d done with the Pledge. And then I kissed Carson and Mychal in genuine gratitude.
Memorial Day honors the dead, of course, but there’s still a lot of life at the Soldiers Home—and still a lot of service to give.
Harold, dressed in a handsome suit and patriotic tie, reads Roll Call.
Ray McDade gets some help hoisting his cap during the Navy song.
Younger and older come together a lot at the Soldiers Home--always with respect.
From left, Doreen, Carson and Mychal man the refreshment table.
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