This year is a milestone Memorial Day of remembrance, honor, mourning, and reflection.
Although it was first officially observed in 1868, to honor those who’d made the ultimate sacrifice on the field of battle during the Civil War, this great country had been losing its valiant defenders and ardent patriots in conflicts for ninety-three years prior to that, starting at Lexington and Concord.
America’s finest and bravest have paid that price ever since, in great wars and small, here on our own slice of North America and across a globe once thought to be so vast it would be impossible for any one country to influence it all, let alone project power when needed.
Yet, because of American exceptionalism and our exceptional, innate drive to serve our country and answer the call when it comes, it has been the United States to the rescue of the world. Literally.
And it has cost so dearly, in every instance, whatever the cause or how righteous. Somewhere, hearts were broken. Somewhere, a great rending sadness tore someone’s life apart because a son, a husband, a precious daughter, or wife, a father or mother wasn’t coming home this time.
While we are spending our Memorial Day holiday at the lake or beach, please remember these Alabama Airmen who lost their lives just a few months ago. Pray for their families. #MemorialDay
Maj. John Klinner
Capt. Ariana Savino
Tech. Sgt. Ashley Pruitt pic.twitter.com/3X68hUCK88— Stupid Girl From Alabama (@deannkh10) May 25, 2026
I have seen that – as an adolescent girl with a crazy crush on the gorgeous teenage son of some of my parents’ best friends. Oh, didn’t I go head over heels gaga for him in his glorious Marine Corps uniform.
And I heard my mother the night she got the phone call from his step-mom, Lori, that Jeff was gone.
Their only boy was gone.
I have found Jeff’s name on the Vietnam Wall South here in Pensacola – PFC Jeffery Scott Patterson. I give it a little rub when we visit.
If you walk in the main entrance to the Veterans’ Park and head towards the Wall, you might notice the brick path. Nearly every paver is engraved, and there’s one from our family for our nephew, John.
We lost him to a suicide bombing at Bagram in 2016.
John wasn’t supposed to even be in Afghanistan – he had orders for a ‘B’ billet in the States. But, as he explained to his mom, he couldn’t leave his shop. They were too short-handed. John had to be with his guys.
Duty and honor run so deep in these young hearts.
We buried him at Arlington in Section 60, the Afghanistan section. Oh, the scars tearing up the grass for all the new graves were as raw as our hearts.
…We buried John at Arlington that December on what had to be the coldest day in recent memory. Howling, freezing winds didn’t stop the flood of Marine Corps friends from decades ago nor John’s childhood buddies from coming to D.C. to support and show their love. Ebola, just off the flight from Guam, so handsome and heartbroken – in his dress blues for his little brother.
Even as we age-old friends and family walked with Kcruella and the horse-drawn caisson carrying our boy, Marines came over the gently undulating rows of graves to join the procession – long-ago friends arriving who knew what this moment and this sacrifice meant.
They came to honor John.
They came to grieve.
Oh, my – you remember how proud you are of that magnificent young man.
You gather strength and comfort from those who have shared military life with you.
You feel the love and warmth radiate from family and friends, and lean on it – hard.
Ten years on – has it really been that long? Still stabs at the heart like yesterday. But the grass is now lush around him and the others who keep him company there in that so sacred place.
And you go on as best you can, you know?
There are so many stories with sore, broken hearts to hug in those rolling hills at the National Cemeteries and in the burials when they bring a service member home to rest.
I always think of this quote on memorial weekend. pic.twitter.com/rJVHVJgl03
— Natalie F Danelishen (@Chesschick01) May 24, 2026
So much of this great country’s national treasure has been sacrificed over the centuries. They speak to us of their time and place from the quiet, hallowed grounds they rest in now.
Memorial Day 2026:
Here are New Jersey’s approximate military deaths over the last 250 years… 🇺🇸 🙏 🕯️ pic.twitter.com/RA6PNnXbSL
— Matt Rooney (@MattRooneyNJ) May 25, 2026
I always read the names aloud when I walk the rows at Barrancas.
Our first loss of the Iraq War in Pensacola was a young Marine named Corporal Jonathan Spears. We lined the road to honor him. To let his family know that this military town loved their son and them with all its heart. And while we couldn’t ease their pain, we wanted them to know we would share it as best we could.
They gathered along the funeral procession route on Nov. 3, some standing silently at attention, some waving American flags.
From Cantonment to Warrington, along the 15-mile route, they stayed long after the black hearse rolled past, long after the body of Marine Cpl. Jonathan “J.R.” Spears and his family and friends continued on toward Barrancas National Cemetery at Pensacola Naval Air Station, Fla.
Spears, 21, of Molino, shot to death on Oct. 23 in Iraq, was the first U.S. service member from the Pensacola area to die in the war, according to the Department of Defense.
He, like Jeff, and our John and the hundreds of thousands before them, was proud to serve.
Proud.
And we are so proud of all of them, and we will remember.
There are 250 years of thank-yous owed for the upcoming anniversary of this miracle nation. Two hundred and fifty years of selfless sacrifice in the name and service of the most amazing place ever devised by mortal man on Earth and blessed by its Creator.
All that We, the People, shall remain free.
Above all, this weekend, I would humbly ask you to please have a grateful Memorial Day.
And remember them.
Semper Fi
