Every year, as Memorial Day approaches, I find myself reflecting on what this day truly means. It’s easy to get caught up in the long weekend, the barbecues, and the unofficial start of summer. But for many families—mine included—Memorial Day carries a much deeper weight.
I often hear people say, “Thank you for your service,” to veterans on Memorial Day. While the sentiment is kind, it’s technically meant for Veterans Day. Memorial Day is different. It’s the day we honor those who never made it home—the men and women who gave their lives in service to our country.
My Father (Conrad Erniel Johnson Sr.) with his fellow comrades in a Group photo taken in San Fransico, California. I never knew he had this photo until he passed away. I didn’t get to ask who these other men were. I don’t know if they made it home or lived a long life like my father. Today we honor them.
The Origins of Memorial Day
The first national observance of what was then called Decoration Day took place on May 30, 1868. General John A. Logan chose the date because flowers would be in bloom across the country, perfect for decorating the graves of fallen soldiers. But even before that, communities across the nation were already finding ways to honor their dead.
One of the earliest known commemorations happened on May 1, 1865, in Charleston, South Carolina. Over 1,000 newly freed African Americans, U.S. Colored Troops, and white citizens gathered at the Martyrs of the Race Course cemetery to honor 257 Union soldiers who had died in a Confederate prison camp. It was a powerful act of remembrance and gratitude.
Other towns, like Waterloo, New York, and Columbus, Georgia, also held early ceremonies, decorating graves of both Union and Confederate soldiers. Many places claim to be the birthplace of Memorial Day, but it was the 1868 proclamation by the Grand Army of the Republic that made it a national observance. Today, we celebrate it on the last Monday in May, honoring all U.S. military personnel who have died in service.
My Father’s Story
My father served in the Army Air Forces with a unit from Hamilton Field, California, from July 1945 through December 1946. For years, I thought he was an officer, and I was so proud of that. Later, when I became his home health caregiver, I learned more about what his service really entailed.
He was just 19 years old, and his job was to identify bodies—placing toe tags on the fallen and typing the letters that would be sent to their families. I can’t imagine the emotional toll that must have taken on someone so young. I often wonder how many of those names stayed with him. How many were his friends? How many stories did he carry silently for the rest of his life?
A Family of Service
Two of my sons also served in the Army. Watching them go through basic training, I saw firsthand how the military breaks young men down to build them back up as soldiers. It’s a transformation that comes with pride, discipline, and sacrifice—but also with trauma.
As a mother, I’ve seen the cost of that transformation. The military teaches them to be strong, to fight, to protect. But it also leaves marks that don’t always fade when the uniform comes off.
Freedom and Responsibility
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what freedom really means. We live in a country where people can make choices—good or bad—because others fought and died to give us that right. I see people struggling, some asking for help, others giving up hope, and I can’t help but feel torn.
Freedom isn’t just something we’re given—it’s something we have to live up to. It’s the responsibility to use our opportunities wisely, to work hard, and to contribute to a country that so many have died defending.
Understanding Our Country
I’ll admit, I never used to pay much attention to politics. I voted for the person who seemed best for the job and left it at that. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how important it is to understand what’s happening in our country. To ask questions. To learn. To care.
Sometimes I struggle to understand why we send our soldiers to fight in other countries’ wars. Maybe it’s about alliances, maybe it’s about protecting freedom beyond our borders—but it’s hard to grasp when the cost is so high.
A Day of Reflection
This week, my heart feels heavy. I’m thinking about my father, about my sons, and about all the families who have lost loved ones in service. I’m thinking about the young soldiers who never came home, and the parents who waited for letters that never arrived.
Memorial Day isn’t just a holiday—it’s a reminder. A reminder of the price of freedom, the weight of sacrifice, and the importance of gratitude.
So as the flags wave and the parades roll by, take a moment to pause. Remember the names, the faces, the stories. Remember those who gave everything so the rest of us could live free.
If you are a veteran, look into joining your local American Legion. They help advocate for service members, veterans, family members, youth and their communities.