“Greater love has no one than this, than to
lay down one’s life for his friends.” –
John 15:13
 |
Rolling Thunder 2017 Pentagon south parking lot
Photo: Ileana Johnson |
As soon as we exited the metro
station, we heard the roar of thousands of motorcycles revving up their engines
or simply lining up in the South and North Parking lots of the non-descript
Pentagon building. It was a pleasant low seventies day but the sky was grey with
heavy cloudy. We had checked the weather forecast and the report said, low
percentage of precipitation. As usual, the forecasters were wrong when it comes
to predicting the weather, much less the climate change.
Thousands of bikers on
Harleys drove for days from places as far away as California, Puerto Rico, New
York, Mississippi, Nevada, and Massachusetts. A Canadian group was resting in
the green grass overlooking the South parking lot. Some bikers had served in
the military, others have not, but they have come from far and wide to pay
their respects to prisoners of war and those still missing in action. Each bike
was proudly flying the American Stars and Stripes and the POW/MIA black and
white flag. A sea of Old Glory bandana-clad Americans were waiting patiently by
their bikes for the signal for the Rolling Thunder ride to begin their parade
through Washington, D.C.
We got back on the metro for
a short trip to Arlington National Cemetery. The mood was more somber there. No
sooner had we left the escalator for the main entrance that a heavy downpour
soaked everyone to the bone. Few people had come prepared with umbrellas or
ponchos but everyone braved the driving rain. It was so wet, the guards had
given up screening people at the visitor center and the volunteers fanned
across the sections assigned to them.
In lot 33, we picked up
our buckets of 133 roses, red, yellow, pink, white, and tangerine, equal to the
number of tombs on each row. Big trucks were unloading thousands of buckets of fragrant
roses and volunteers picked them up, one by one. I chose pink and red roses,
and I stoically trudged through the rain and searing knee and leg pain to our
assigned lot 66.
Our section was composed
of many Americans who had served in WWI, WWII, Korean, and Vietnam wars. Some
had died young, some on the first day of a war, some on the last day, and some
died of old age. Entire families had lost their men, and a few lost the father
and the son(s).
My husband David saluted each
time as he placed a rose and thanked the person marked on the gravestone for
his/her service. Strangely, we were instructed to not place flowers on the
graves marked with a Star of David. I did not question why, I assumed it was a
religious custom.
My tears were washed away
by the deluge and I had a hard time holding the camera. Thousands and thousands
of rows of white marble headstone of all the selfless Americans are just names
to many, but they were highly decorated Heroes who served our country in so
many God forsaken places and died on foreign soil so that we may now live so
well and free.
A woman’s name and her
year of death was often inscribed on the back of the headstone, as the widow
wished to be buried with her Hero husband and chose his gravesite as her
eternal resting place.
Each rose, placed one
foot in front of the headstone, was a tribute to soldiers who served our
country their entire lives or who died liberating people who never thanked them
and perhaps never truly appreciated their ultimate sacrifice.
My physical pain and
discomfort was a small sacrifice when compared to what these heroic soldiers
had done. I was there to thank them for giving me freedom from oppressive
communism and the opportunity to thrive and live a good life.
There was a feeling of
camaraderie all around us; entire families, parents, children, grandchildren,
grandparents, or lone individuals were carrying around buckets of roses and
placing them lovingly one by one at each grave, thanking that person for their
service and sacrifice.
People had a mixture of
sadness and joy on their faces as they were waiting at the metro station;
everyone was soaked and shivering but nobody complained. I could only imagine
the marches our soldiers had made through jungles, strange territories, in
rain, sunshine, and snow, and how many had died fighting while exposed to the
harsh elements.
May the Memory Be Eternal
for all the selfless men and women, our true Heroes, who gave their lives for
our freedom and comfort! May their ultimate sacrifice remind us that “freedom
is not free!”
