February 19, 1945

This was a date my grandfather always remembered. This day forever changed his life. It was the day his older brother, 2nd Lt. Ernest J. B. Nelson, was killed in action over the Pacific Ocean, just off the coast of Asia. Bud, as his family and friends called him, was flying on a mission as a co-pilot on a B-29 when it crashed and he died.

I’ve read the war report of the incident. Reading it was quite the experience — a time-freezing experience. As I read the names of the 11 patriots who perished on the Pacific War front for the Stars and Stripes, time seemed to stand still. An amalgamation of emotions began to rise up within me as I read the report and, reread it a second time, continuing to process the event I was imagining in a cinematic sort of way. I became incredibly saddened by the loss of life while concomitantly but, at the same time, an overwhelming sense of gratitude began to rise up within me. I was powerfully reminded that freedom is never free. It comes at a cost; and these heroes from WWII paid the ultimate cost.

Freedom is never free. It comes at a cost; and these heroes from WWII paid the ultimate cost.

As a kid, Grandpa taught me how important it was to reverently remember these men, along with the countless other men and women who have laid down their lives in sacrificial service to this country. And every May, on the designated day of the month, he would be the first to thank God for those who paid the ultimate price for our freedom. But I believe, in his heart, February 19 was Grandpa’s Memorial Day.

And herein lies the lesson for all of us this Memorial Day.

This weekend, as we remember, honor, and celebrate those who died in service to our country, let’s not forget that every day of the year is a Memorial Day for somebody. Let’s become aware that acknowledging, honoring, and remembering the sacrifice of others is just as important the rest of the week … as it is on Monday.

No day is exempt.