Axar.az presents an article “ A Grateful Nation” by John Samuel Tieman.

Memorial Day is the 26th

Years ago, I was at church. It was the Sunday Mass before Memorial Day. Prayers were offered for those traveling over the holiday weekend. Prayers for families that would gather. Then the service went on. I'm a pretty staid Catholic. But this was painful. I said, out loud, “We can pray for folks who barbecue this weekend, but we can't spare a prayer for the people who gave their lives for their country?” My wife took my hand and calmed me.

That Mass was a reminder of how distant military service, and sacrifice, are from most folks. According to census figures, veterans currently make up about 7.3% of the overall population. Most people have no contact with anyone on active duty, much less anyone who died in the war.

Veteran's Day and Memorial Day are often confused. Veteran's Day is for all those who served in the uniformed services. Memorial Day is for those who died. It is just as well that we confuse these terms. It reminds us of how few people actually serve, and how these two days have more to do with barbecue than memory.

Another Memorial Day approaches. The act of remembering is a solitary thing. It does not do the remembered any good or ill. But the memory matters. Regardless of politics right or left, war will never end unless we remember, by name, those who died.

Perhaps, because I am a war veteran, I have more to remember than most. That said, I will not remember the war dead, or my brother and sister veterans, any more this week than I remember them any other week. Besides, the act of remembering is a solitary thing. It doesn't do the remembered any good or ill. But the names, by which we record the memory, the names matter.

Therefore, I would like to propose to my reader a simple task this Memorial Day. Pick a name. Pick someone who died. Go to a web page, a memorial, and pick a name. Say the name out loud. Read the obituary. Think about that person's mother, father, siblings, friends. Or allow me to do all that for you.

Gary Neiman grew up in York, Pennsylvania. He was a working-class kid. His father worked at York Narrow Fabric, and his mother toiled in several sewing factories. He had two sisters, Ardella and Dorothy, and three brothers, Edgar, William and Charles. His sister, Dorothy, he always called Dot. He was a Boy Scout. When he was a kid, he broke his arm.

He never finished high school. He joined the army. His family hated the idea of him going off to the army in the middle of a war. But off he went.

He arrived in Vietnam on April 6, 1969. He landed at Cam Rahn Bay. Eight days later, he wrote home.

"How is everybody? I am OK, just hot. Yesterday it was 102 and today it's 99. It's hot.

As soon as I get to my unit, I'll send you some souvenirs if I can. I'm in the 101st Airborne, 501st Infantry and they're sending me to the worst part of Vietnam."

"See ya in about 355 days," he signed off. He died week after writing that letter, 17 days after arriving in Vietnam. Gary Neiman was 18.

He was awarded the Bronze Star, the Purple Heart, the Army Commendation Medal, and posthumously promoted to Specialist 4th Class, in those days the equivalent of a corporal. Gary Neiman is honored on Panel 26W, Line 34, of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in our nation's capital. He is buried at Mount Rose Cemetery in York.

Military funerals seem dramatic. The 21 gun salute. Taps. Perhaps the most moving moment is a simple gesture that is done rather quietly. After the flag on the casket is removed and folded, it is presented to the next of kin. Gary Neiman's father would then have heard these simple words. "This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation, and the United States Army, as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

On behalf of a grateful nation. The greatest honor we can now bestow is to simply remember his name, Gary Neiman. And the names of all the men and women like him. They deserve at least a moment on Memorial Day, during which we consider what they did for us. They died.