First, of course, I think of my late father who was a WWII Vet (but who did return home and get to have and raise a family). Also, though, I think of all those who didn't return home alive. One reason, in particular, is that my mothers was married before she met my father. She and her young husband had no children, but he was killed during the war. Even though she didn't talk about it all the time, I knew the impact it had had on her; and I'd hear her sisters and her mentioning how awful it had been when he was killed. She loved my mother, and they had a good marriage; still, there was a kind of cloud lingering over my mother in some ways. It showed up in her wistfulness when she talked about him, and it showed up when she talked about the horror of losing him. Theirs was just one story. There were so many more, being that close to that one story made it all seem that much more real to me, I think. My mother is now gone, but I think of her young husband on Memorial Day (for her, I guess - or else because I know that if he hadn't been killed my three siblings and my parents' six grandchildren and my niece's four children would never have existed. That's a kind of strange thing to think about, I guess. Guess I don't want that young Marine forgotten for a few different reasons.