It’s Memorial Day. Workers are cutting grass in our neighborhood. The ice cream store is busy; butter-pecan drips down the side of your cone until expertly tongued. Folks stroll with babies. Two Marines in their dress blues stand beside a gravestone and clink their long-necked beer bottles. A toast is offered, and the guest of honor returns one of his own.
I’m reading one of Steve Stotelmyer’s books about the Civil War, “Bivouacs of the Dead,” a clear compendium of what was done with the fallen at the Battle of Antietam, Sharpsburg for the Confederates, from the moment of their fatal wounding in September 1862 to the interments on the field and eventually in cemeteries.
We say we have laid them to rest, and yet they are restless, and not just on this one day of the year. So many, over the scores of years, for reasons and allegiances we misremember but cherish nonetheless – what do you suppose they want to say to us? Perhaps honor is enough, but I still wonder – what do their restless souls want us to know?
Scott D. McLean, MD 