To those whom we owe so much.

I’m sitting here in a hotel room in Cincinnati, staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen, searching for the right words. I’ve written and deleted, written and deleted.

My mind is filled with memories of my grandfather, who served courageously on the front lines of WWII for the entire duration of the war. I think of how he was miraculously protected—a lone survivor with a purpose yet to fulfill in this world. And I think of his platoon, names and faces unknown to me, who didn’t make it home; who never had the chance to meet the love of their life or raise a family. Who never got the privilege of hating a job or complaining that the living room furniture didn’t match the rest of the house. The things we worry about these days.

My Grandfather (Nonno), Leonardo Flavio Cirillo

My thoughts turn to the thousands of others who have selflessly served our country—those who stood up to protect our freedoms, who faced or are facing fire so that we can live freely and pursue our dreams.

And after reflecting on the unimaginable sacrifices each has made, and the debt I feel so deeply, the best words I can offer are simply these:

Thank you. God bless you.

MC

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

By John McRae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.