Last Saturday was nothing like the unseasonable warmth that we are experiencing today on this first day of winter. Instead, it was one of those weekends where the weather forecast was lousy and all anyone really wanted to do was stay in and pad around the house. For all of its hype and glitter, the holiday season can certainly wear a person down once mid-December rolls around, and to consider going out in the freezing rain on a precious weekend morning sounded like the exact opposite of self-preservation.
But last weekend was special, even for a season where so many notable days are already crammed in between November and early January. This December 14th marked National Wreaths Across America Day, and all around the country regular people like you and me went out and laid remembrance wreaths in our state and national veterans’ cemeteries.
As promised, the morning started off under uninspired gray skies. I bundled up as best I could before meeting two military friends in a crowded metro that took us to the cemetery. By the time we emptied out at Arlington, the turnstiles had beeen switched open and metro workers were waving the masses of people through in an attempt to get everybody above ground with relative expediency.
Over the past couple of years I have run alongside Arlington National Cemetery about sixteen thousand times, and on every occasion I am always filled with humbled reverence when I scan the identical rows of so many who served. On this day, the sentiment was only magnified. I know it’s impossible, but the number of people who showed up with me on this day seemed to rival the number of those who have been granted permanent repose in this hallowed ground.
You might not believe it, but I don’t consider myself to be the flag-waving variety of American patriot. I do my military job and enjoy the service camaraderie, but you won’t see me walking around wearing a deployment jacket or one of those American flag shirts that say, “Try burning this one, Asshole”. That just isn’t my style. But you know what’s great about being an American? You can look any way that you want—and on this morning in Arlington, we had every variety of citizen standing in lines behind semi trucks in order to honor the sacrifices of our country’s service members.
Reports would say that about 25,000 people showed up in Arlington on December 14th, and a quick sweep of the landscape would leave me to believe that this estimate is about right. My friends and I patiently waited in line as we took stock of the young, old, wounded and uniformed all walking about carrying flags and signs that represented all parts of the country. When we finally shuffled to the front of the line we were handed two wreaths—one cradled in each arm—and then we set out to find a place to lay them.
“Let’s go to Section 60,” said my friend Christina, an Army major, “that’s where the most recent fallen are buried.” She was here last year, and having served in her share of wartime deployments, she unfortunately can list classmates and friends who are buried at this cemetery.
As we passed through the rows, I scanned the headstones and marveled at the diversity in faith emblems that were etched into the uniform headstones. Many graves in Section 60 were decorated with so much more than just remembrance wreaths—families had already laid photographs, personal keepsakes and even little Christmas trees around the simple, staid markers.
The atmosphere was respectful, but I would not say that the mood was entirely somber. Some people remained kneeling before their selected headstone, eyes closed in quiet prayer. In many other spots there were groups of family and friends clustered around gravesites, almost as thought they were including fallen veterans in a sort of holiday gathering. The few spare trees that punctuate the cemetery grounds were decorated with photos and ornaments, and the number of children running around underscored a circle of life that is both precious and fragile.
After locating a stretch of empty headstones, we laid our wreaths against the white marble and reflected for a moment on a person who now took up a few moments of our morning. The forecasted rain had still not come, but in the cold distance you could hear a bagpiper playing. As we walked back to a truck to gather more wreaths, it was impossible not to feel moved by the simple enormity of the occasion.
The following morning, I woke up early and set off for a run around the perimeter of the Pentagon. It wasn’t my usual route, but for no particular reason I decided to head north instead of south.
As I ran alongside South Washington Boulevard, the view on the other side of the highway suddenly came into startling focus: in the distance I took in the rolling hills of white headstones cast in pink by the rising sun—but now they was also painted red and green by hundreds of holiday wreaths. Tears came to my eyes, and in that split second I understood how important each of those fallen veterans were to me.
This act of honor and remembrance that goes on each year in our national cemeteries isn’t a government-funded project. The purchase, distribution and laying of these wreaths is achieved completely by donation—and you might be surprised to learn that Wreaths Across America does not succeed in covering every headstone. Next year marks the 150th anniversary of Arlington National Cemetery, and the organization hopes to raise enough funds to cover every single grave in commemoration of the event.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the daily cycle of obligations and stressors—especially now at the end of the year when we are all frantically trying to tie up loose ends. Personally, I don’t find many moments where I get to be part of something that stops me in my tracks and gently whispers a bit about what’s important in life. The sad truth is that these opportunities are all around us, and it’s simply a matter of putting down our phones and recognizing what really counts.
It’s important to be humbled. I’m thankful to my friends for inviting me out here on this cold day, and I’m even more thankful for the sacrifices made by those who gave their lives to a cause greater than him or herself.
Remember, honor, and teach.