Memorial Day is one day of the year for us, but it is every day for them
A little more than 20 years ago — Could it be that long? — I received an email from a woman named Marcie Biskie, who told me she’d read a column I’d written in which I printed the names of military personnel with ties to Arizona who had died in Iraq or Afghanistan.
The list was long.
And it got longer.
Marcie wrote, “My husband was Sgt. Benjamin W. Biskie Sr., listed in your article. His favorite part of his job was spending time in the Iraqi population, talking with them, exchanging stories, learning about them.
“But for him, the best part was the kids. I have many pictures of him with the children he met with each time he went out. He would take pictures for families, since they have no cameras, send the film to me to develop, and I would send them back so he could give them pictures of themselves.”
We forget the soldiers who sacrificed it all
On Christmas Eve 2003, Biskie and two other soldiers died when their vehicle was destroyed by a roadside bomb near the town of Samarra.
He’d joined the Army right out of high school. He and Marcie had a 6-year-old son. He was 27.
At the end of her note to me Marcie Biskie, who signed correspondence as the “proud widow” of Sgt. Benjamin W. Biskie Sr., wrote, “It sometimes seems that no one remembers.”
It was true then. It’s even more true now.
Once a year, however, on Memorial Day, we are reminded.
The difference between us and people like Marcie is that for those who have lost loved ones in military conflicts every day is Memorial Day.
Memories shared by mothers of those we lost
During the years of our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, I spoke with a number of mourning family members. Too many.
Beth Pearson, whose son Brice died in Iraq, told me once, “Why not have a moment of silence (to honor fallen soldiers) at every game? Every public event? At the beginning of every school day?”
We should. We don’t.
Carolyn Adair, whose son, Cpl. Aaron Pack, died early in the Iraq war, once shared with me a letter he wrote to her that reads in part, “Thanks for being the best mom a son could ever have. You’ve given me a lot of opportunities and a lot of love, and helped me become the person I am today. I love you.”
Tina Armijo, whose son, Spc. Santos R. Armijo, known as “Bear,” and who was killed near Baghdad, told me about the Memorial Day just before he shipped out.
Arizona's war dead have names: Here are a few to honor
She said, “He was going to go over there, and so on that Memorial Day, we had a big cake, decorated red, white and blue. All his cousins were here. … He liked it very much.”
Rhonda McCarthy, whose son Joe died in the war, told me, “Maybe one day I’ll understand it all. Until then I will cry. Every day. Not just out of anger but out of loss. Not only mine but this world’s.”
For these families, Memorial Day never ends
These lovely people, and every other member of a Gold Star family, live through nothing but Memorial Days.
I was reminded of this in the middle of the July many years ago, when an envelope arrived at my office that had inside it a Christmas stocking and a brief, unsigned note.
The stocking was made of brown and tan military-style camouflage material and had “U.S. Marines” stitched onto it in red.
The note read: “We were going to give this to our son when he returned from his most recent tour. But he died over there. You mentioned him in a column a while back with the names of others who were lost. Thanks for that. Don’t forget them.”
It was signed, “A Marine’s mom.”
Reach Montini at ed.montini@arizonarepublic.com.
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This article originally appeared on Arizona Republic: Memorial Day is one day for us, but every day for them
