Major Marie Rossi made military history. But on Memorial Day that's not why I remember her

On Memorial Day, I always think of Army Maj. Marie Rossi. I think of her throughout the year but more so this time of year. When we, the civilian class, are asked to remember and honor those who made the supreme sacrifice, Marie's name is the first to come to my mind.

This is the story of how she became the face of my Memorial Day.

I was a young editor working a Sunday morning in an empty newsroom of the New York Post in Lower Manhattan. The first Gulf War, Desert Storm, had just ended. The city desk phone rang. It was the Washington bureau.

'A KIA from our area'

"We have a KIA (killed in action) from our area," the bureau chief said. She went on with the few sparse details that she had; a name, her hometown but not an exact address.  She's Marie Rossi from Oradell in New Jersey. The bureau chief asked me to confirm that I had the information correctly.

I parroted back: Marie Rossi. Oradell, New Jersey.

We're sure it's Marie Rossi, Oradell, correct? I asked.

Affirmative.

My hand began to shake as I reached into my bag and pulled out a brown tattered phone book with the faux leather covers, and flipped to the "R's."

I knew where she lived. I knew the house. I've been to the house.

Marie Therese Rossi, daughter of Gertrude and Paul Rossi. She also had a younger sister, Elizabeth. But everyone called her Beth, including me.

Beth was my college crush while we were both at Marist College in Poughkeepsie. I was a year or two ahead of her. She was light years ahead of me in smarts and poise, one of the kindest and most beautiful souls on campus.

Ebbs and tides of friendship

Our first date was at a cozy family Italian restaurant in Poughkeepsie called Milanese. It's still there. I remember I had to scrounge up enough of my work study stipend for a dinner for two, a half carafe of the house wine plus taxi fare because I didn't have a car.

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Time's ebb and flow eventually set us on different courses. I returned to New York City after graduation to embark on a career. Beth traveled to Ireland for her study overseas year. But we kept in touch, cards or letters in those days before emails, and we stayed friends.

Beth came to watch me run my first marathon, and she tried to teach me how to roller skate. We played one of the original Atari video games when it first came out, a black and white hockey contest, primitive and laughable by today's standards. I watched one of the most memorable football games in NFL history, between the Miami Dolphins and the San Diego Chargers in 1981, with her dad.

But time continued its ebb and flow, and we floated in different directions until that Washington phone call.

A prelude to war on CNN

Army Major Marie T. Rossi, B Company, 2d Battalion, 159th Aviation Regiment, and her crew died March 1, 1991, while she was flying a CH-47 Chinook and it crashed in the Saudi Arabian night. She was the first female aviation combat commander to fly into battle, shuttling arms and supplies to the front. Just before the war commenced, Marie was interviewed by CNN about her role in combat and in history. Her biggest fear was not death, she said, but letting down her brothers and sisters in arms.

Ironically, only a day before her death, a ceasefire had been declared.

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I met Marie at Beth's graduation from Marist. I stood at the off ramp as the new graduates strolled down with their diplomas. I had a dozen red roses that were a surprise for Beth, and Marie was standing nearby. I gave the roses to Beth along with a hug and a kiss.

On that day filled with promise, pomp and circumstance, it never dawned upon me that in a few years' time, I'd be sending flowers to Marie's funeral.

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This article originally appeared on The Providence Journal: Remembering the person on Memorial Day: KIAs are more than a name