Memorial Day Meaning, from a Veteran

I used to struggle with this weekend. Not because I didn’t understand it - but because I did.

Memorial Day hits differently when you’ve worn the uniform. When you’ve stood in formation beside someone who didn’t make it home. When you’ve folded the flag. Watched a family collapse under the weight of grief. Carried the memory of someone who once laughed with you, trained with you, fought beside you.

That’s why for years, I couldn’t bring myself to say “Happy Memorial Day.” Even now, the words catch in my throat.

Because the true Memorial Day meaning has very little to do with barbecue pits and weekend getaways. It’s not about big sales or lake days or a hashtag with fireworks.

It’s about silence.

And stories.

And sacrifice.

It’s about the people we lost. And the ones who lost them.

What Most People Don’t See

I served 22.5 years in the Air Force. Those years shaped me - but they also scarred me. There are names I don’t speak often. Not because I’ve forgotten them, but because saying them out loud still stings.

Some were lost in combat. Some came home physically but never emotionally. Some wore their pain so well, no one saw the storm brewing beneath the surface. Until one day, they were gone.

Let me be clear: I carry no bitterness toward people who don’t fully understand this day. How could they? If you’ve never sat through a ramp ceremony or watched a casket draped in a flag be loaded onto a plane… you simply can’t know.

But you can care.

You can ask.

You can choose to see the depth behind the day.

The Shift in Me

For a long time, I hardened when this day came around. I’d post a photo or a single sentence, but I didn’t want to get into it. Not publicly. Not emotionally.

But grief doesn’t disappear - it evolves.

Eventually, I realized that staying silent didn’t honor the people I lost. Carrying only sadness wasn’t their legacy. These were vibrant, hilarious, complicated, brave human beings. They didn’t want pity. They wanted purpose.

So I stopped shutting down on Memorial Day. And I started speaking up - not to make others uncomfortable, but to make others aware.

That’s what honoring looks like now.

To My Fellow Veterans

If you’re a service member or veteran reading this and this weekend feels hard - I want you to know: You are not alone.

I know what it’s like to scroll through a feed of Memorial Day party posts and feel like screaming. I know what it’s like to sit in your car on the side of the road because a song or a scent brought back something you weren’t ready for. I know what it’s like to carry survivor’s guilt and not know what to do with it.

This weekend, give yourself permission to feel all of it.

Cry.

Laugh.

Go silent.

Tell a story.

Light a candle.

Be angry.

Be grateful.

Be still.

There’s no “right” way to hold grief. There’s only your way.

To the Families Who Lost Someone

I see you. I honor you. And I’m sorry for the way this day is often treated like just another holiday.

You lost someone whose name may never be in a headline - but their absence is louder than any parade. You don’t need a bumper sticker to prove your loss. You live it. Every day.

Your love, your sacrifice, your grief - it matters. Please don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

To Those Who Want to Honor, But Don’t Know How

You don’t have to say the perfect thing. You don’t have to post the perfect quote.

Just pause.

Before you fire up the grill, take a moment. Before you toss out “Happy Memorial Day,”  think about what this day actually costs.

You don’t have to carry the weight - but you can help lighten it by acknowledging it.

Say: “I remember.”

“I honor them.”

“I'm thinking of you today.”

That’s it. That’s enough.

So What Does “Happy” Mean to Me Now?

I’ve redefined it - not as carefree joy, but as the deep gratitude that comes from remembrance.

“Happy” doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. It means I’m choosing to live well, in their honor.

It means I’m raising my kids with the values we fought for. It means I smile for them, breathe for them, and make moments matter - because they can’t.

And maybe that’s the greatest way to honor them of all.

What Memorial Day Means to Me Now

Now, I don’t shut down on Memorial Day. I don’t shy away from it either.

I sit with it.

I speak their names.

I hold the memories.

And I live.

Because that’s what they can’t do anymore. And that’s how I honor them.

This Memorial Day, I’ll be remembering the ones I lost - some with stories too sacred to share in writing. I’ll be holding space for those who are grieving quietly. I’ll be praying for the families with empty seats at the table. And I’ll be choosing to live fully, with depth and meaning, because I’m still here - and they are not.

That’s what Memorial Day means to me.

And if you’re still reading this, thank you for taking a moment to really see what this day is about. Thank you for choosing presence over performance.

To the fallen: You are not forgotten.

To the living: Let’s make sure it stays that way.