Lest We Forget

World War II veterans contend that the movie, Saving Private Ryan, is the most realistic portrayal of war they’ve ever witnessed. When Normandy was invaded on June 6, 1944, landing crafts carrying over 150,000 infantrymen sailed into the teeth of heavy enemy artillery. The movie graphically portrays 18, and 19-year-old boys crouched in those boats, terrified, but with little concept of the horror awaiting them.

When the boat’s metal plate was lowered, enabling the soldiers to disembark, heavy machine-gun fire from the bunkers above methodically mowed them down. Bloodied bodies were floating in the water, and panic-stricken guys were jumping overboard to escape the deadly bullets piercing the air. Scores drowned under the weight of their equipment. Ninety percent of the first company that landed were gunned down in the first two minutes. Yet those young men somehow managed to keep coming. That was incredible courage. That was the supreme sacrifice.

When I first viewed Saving Private Ryan, I was impressed that when the movie was over, the entire audience sat in stunned silence. There was no rush to the exits. In fact, there was no applause. The reverent silence in the theater expressed a renewed appreciation for the horrific price that had been paid for America’s freedom. That evening I thought to myself, “Even though this movie is extremely graphic and rated ‘R,’ it should be mandatory viewing for every high school senior because most today have little concept of the cost that’s been paid for our liberty.”

This Memorial Day weekend, I pray the following pictures will serve as reminders of that high price.

That cost has been born not just by the soldiers who died, but by families who mourn the passing of their loved ones and whose lives will never be the same.

The picture to the right puts a lump in my throat: A marine bends down to comfort a ten-year-old boy who is fighting back tears. You can almost hear the Marine say, “Son, on behalf of a grateful nation, I present to you the flag of the United States of America, in appreciation of your father’s service….” That young man is obviously broken-hearted. But at this point, he has very little understanding of the degree that his dad’s supreme sacrifice will impact the rest of his life.

The night before the burial of her husband’s body, Katherine Cathey refused to leave the casket of her husband, Lt. James Cathey. Marine 2nd Lt. James J. Cathey, 24, was killed Aug. 21, 2005. He and a corporal had gone ahead of a platoon to scout near Al Karmah, Iraq when a roadside bomb exploded. Cathey had been named Marine of the Year in the division and twice was on the Super Squad for his battalion.

A week later, his wife Katherine asked for permission to sleep next to her husband’s body for the last time. The Marines made a bed for her in the funeral home tucking in the sheets below the flag. Before she fell asleep, she opened her laptop computer and played songs that reminded her of James. One of the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch through the night as she slept. “I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it,” she said. “I think that’s what he would have wanted.”

When James Cathey first told his mother, Caroline, he was heading to Iraq, she couldn’t shake a recurring vision. When she thought of her son, she saw three men dressed in green coming to the door of her Reno home. In August 2005, a month after her son arrived for duty in Iraq, Cathey returned from errands on a Sunday morning. A military car was parked across the street.

“I knew why they were there,” she said. “He always told me, ‘Mom, Don’t worry’…If we don’t fight it over there, we’ll be fighting it over here.'” His mother agreed. “They need to be over there,” she admitted. “They need to get the job done. They want to destroy us. They’ll do it if we let them.”

In that grieving mother’s home today, a bookshelf displays Little League photos, a photo of James in a martial arts outfit and photos of hunting trips with his father, Jeffrey. He wanted to be a Marine since the fourth grade, said Caroline Cathey, an accountant. “How can you tell your son, ‘No’?”

While Caroline Cathey still feels the void of her son’s death, she most fears that her son will be forgotten. James is buried in the Northern Nevada Veterans Memorial Cemetery in Fernley. There will probably be just a handful of family members that visit his grave on Memorial Day.

The following quote was found on a cell wall in the South Pacific written by an American serviceman who was held as a prisoner of war in 1945. “For those who fought for it, freedom has a sweetness the protected will never know.” Freedom is never free. A high price has been paid, much blood has been shed, and many families have grieved.

This Memorial Day weekend, let’s remember we owe those fallen heroes and their families a tremendous debt of gratitude. An expensive price has been paid for our liberty. Let’s not take it for granted. I’d suggest you gather your family, and all of you watch this six-minute video: Tribute to Fallen Marine James Cathey.

“Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.” (Psalm 103:2)

 

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