For families like mine, Memorial Day is not simply a long weekend. It is a time to pause, reflect, and pray. It is a sacred space of remembrance.

For years, before I moved too far away, I would visit my brother’s grave. I remember standing there, looking at the small American flag placed beside his headstone. In those moments, the past would come rushing back like an old film replaying in vivid detail.

I remember the day his body was shipped home from overseas. It was a closed coffin draped in the American flag. I remember the military officer who stood in our kitchen on a warm summer day, delivering the words no family ever wants to hear. I remember the shock on his wife’s face when we told her he wasn’t coming home. I remember his two-year-old son, confused and searching for a father he could not understand was gone. I remember the child who would be born into this world without ever meeting his dad.

And I remember the grief, the deep, gut-wrenching sorrow that settled into our family and changed us forever.

This is what sacrifice looks like. It is not abstract. It is not distant. It is lived out in the lives of spouses, children, parents, and siblings who carry both pride and pain.

So, this Memorial Day, I urge you to pause, even briefly. Step away from the hamburgers and hot dogs. Take a moment to pray. Reflect on the cost of the freedoms we often take for granted. Consider supporting an organization that helps families rebuild after loss. Reach out to someone who is facing this day without a loved one. Even a simple acknowledgment that that their sacrifice is seen and remembered can mean more than you realize.

To my brother Gary: you are missed in ways I cannot fully express. Thank you for your courage, your sacrifice, and your willingness to lay down your life so others could live in freedom.

And to all who remember someone they have lost in service, know this: they are not forgotten. And neither are you.