Memorial Day will be celebrated two days hence. On that day, the President of the United States will lay a wreath on The Tomb of the Unknowns. In Millburn, New Jersey the American Legion post will gather a few of its members, dressed in overseas caps, who will march from their headquarters on Main Street up to the railroad station. Some will be carrying rifles. When they reach the railroad station, the commander will give a snappy salute, and the men will turn around and march back to their headquarters on Main Street. I suppose what all of this goes to show is that there are many ways to reflect our thoughts about those who have contributed or died in the service of this country.
Originally the holiday was called “Decoration Day.” On that day, the graves of veterans would receive flowers and men and women alike would wear red poppies in their lapels. But Decoration Day or Memorial Day is a solemn occasion for old-timers such as myself who can remember when war robbed us of our youth.
In any case, Memorial Day is a sobering occasion that has left this old essayist in a retrospective frame of mind. I suppose perhaps the best way to start this retrospective about Memorial Day might be to go to the Old Scripture. A callow youth under the age of 50 might be encouraged by a reading of the Book of Psalms. One is Psalm 90, verse 10, which might provide youngsters with the thought that they have a long time to live. Here is the quotation from the Bible:
The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their pride [but] labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.”
-King James Version
A close reading of this Scripture will tell people that life will extend over threescore plus ten years or seventy years. The psalmist also concludes that in exceptional cases of great strength mankind, can live for fourscore or eighty years.
For those of us who have lived our fourscore years with some significant change to boot, the approach of Memorial Day leaves all of us octogenarians in a reflective frame of mind.
The verse cited from Psalm 90 says that the time will come when we will “fly away.” I assume that this is a euphemism for when life ceases to exist. But it is a very nice touch to use that phrase in place of the dreaded word of death.
I assume that every person of advanced age will have given thought to the time when life ceases to exist. In my own case, I do not dwell on that subject. I know that it will happen sooner or later. Even the giant maple tree in our front yard has a life span, and when it is finished I suppose that it too will “fly away.” Those of us who have been to war know a bit about dying. For me, it has never been a circumstance to celebrate. If my understanding is correct, the Catholics have a saint who is in charge of peaceful dying. About all that can be asked is that when the end comes, it be done in peace so the saint will have done his job. I don’t look forward to the “flying away,” as the Scripture says. On the other hand, I know that it will happen, and I hope that it will be peaceful. What disturbs me is the fact that the final day of life is often preceded by very grave illnesses and agony. Those grave illnesses tend to torment me.
Two of my neighbors, Irving Licht and Jim Lyons, as well as my brother died of Parkinson’s Disease. This disease takes a very heavy toll on the victim as well as on those around him. In most cases, victims of Parkinson’s Disease are confined to their beds for much of the last two or three years of their lives. Being unable to walk, they are forced to use catheters, and bedsores are a plague to them.
I cite Parkinson’s because it is close to home. But we should not forget the agony that accompanies the end of life from sources such as cancer. And then there are those that in their final days, suffer from dementia and Alzheimer’s. These meet the definition of being slow and obscene as described by the Australian songwriter, Eric Bogle.
So you see, my retrospective mood tells me that when death arrives, it will be greatly appreciated if it is not accompanied by a long illness. And that thought leads me to think of Eric Bogle, a songwriter who was born in Scotland but now, since the late 1970s, is an Australian citizen.
Bogle wrote a pair of strong anti-war songs called “And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda” and an earlier one called “The Green Fields of France.” In the latter case, the song is also known as “Willie McBride.”
On a summer day some years ago, Bogle visited a cemetery that held the remains of British soldiers killed in World War I. Feeling tired, he sat down by the graveside of Private Willie McBride. According to the headstone, Willie McBride was killed at the age of 19 in the year of 1916. As Bogle sat there carrying on his imaginary conversation with Willie McBride, he coined a phrase that is memorialized in his song. In the imaginary conversation with Private McBride, Bogle asks, “Did you die quick? And did you die clean? Or was it slow and obscene?”
May I suggest that all of us would prefer to “fly away” in a manner that is both quick and clean. But that may not be possible in every case. In those cases in which the death is slow and obscene, we should all hope for the likes of Frances Licht, Dorothy Lyons, and Mildred Carr. They nursed their husbands through their long ordeals and my retrospective thoughts embrace them as well as the soldiers and sailors who died in the defense of the United States.
When this long and sobering weekend passes, perhaps I will undertake to write an essay that might cause a giggle or two. In the meantime, however, I would ask that none of you should “fly away” as the psalmist suggests. We need every reader we can get.
E. E. CARR
May 23, 2009
Essay 387
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Kevin’s commentary: This essay reminds me a little of 2012’s “Bad News for the Ultra Pious,” which is an essay commemorating the continued defiance of the psalmist. I had no idea, incidentally, that my family history included Parkinson’s sufferers. It sounds like a horrible, horrible disease.
Looking down the list of essays, I am gladdened that there’s a cheery one coming up, but it looks to be a few away still. Unless it’s “Grim News Abounds,” which will be published in two essays from now. But my money is on “Ode to Commode.” Stay tuned!