Memorial Day used to be hard for my father. While a US Navy officer during World War II, he lost so many friends, some of whom he had known since his childhood on Summit Street, others who were his fraternity brothers at Duke, and still others whom he had never met before the Pacific theater.
He rarely talked about the war, but late at night when he was visiting us in Washington, I'd find him watching The History Channel in the dark, and then he'd talk. His sorrow was palpable when he did.
Eventually he'd remember some funny moment from the war and laugh while telling it. Then I'd kiss him goodnight and turn off the TV, hoping he'd fall asleep off the smile.
Happy Memorial Day, Daddy.