Memorial Day

© 2013 Gary Coots Photography

It was Memorial Day weekend, and I was at church. The pastor invited us to pay homage to those who have given their lives in the fight to protect our freedom. I struggled to think of someone close to me, connected to me in some way, who had died while serving our country in a time of war.

Then it hit me: My sister's father lost his life in the latter years of World War II. William L. Barnett, Jr.—Bill—was born on November 9, 1915, the only son of a humble north Texas couple. I don't know much about him, but at least one surviving veteran remembers him as a good man who was kind and respectful, loved by those above and below him in rank. On June 17, 1944, after 12 days of battle, the jeep he was in drove over a land mine in Velletri, Italy, and he died at the age of 28.

My sister was only one year old when she lost her dad. She never knew him. He left behind his baby daughter, a grief-stricken widow—our mom—and a sorrowful mother and father who became childless. Over the years, his parents passed away and his widow remarried. Life went on, and Bill became a distant memory.

I thought of Bill only as my sister's late dad until last weekend. For the first time in my life, I imagined his life, his youth, and his sacrifice. With his death came the end of many future stories, many dearly held plans and dreams.

Had it not been for Bill's death, I would never have lived. And had it not been for his service to our country and the service of many others, I would not be free today. Thank you, God, for the life and sacrifice of Bill Barnett.