Gold Star Mother's Day

Since 1936, the last Sunday in September has been set aside as Gold Star Mother’s Day. This day is not like the normal, regular Mother’s Day. On that Mother’s Day in May we honor and celebrate moms, well, for being moms. This is part of Gold Star Mother’s Day as well, but the celebration is of a different tenor; the melody is somber with a minor harmony of grateful and respectful notes.

Most people unless they are intimately connected to the military or veteran communities are completely unaware of this Congressionally recognized day. Even those with a family member currently serving in our Armed Forces, a surprising number do not know what a Gold Star signifies. I’ll be honest and admit I didn’t know until I became one myself. I would do anything to go back to those days of ignorance if it also meant I didn't qualify.

No one wants to be a Gold Star Mother. No one wants to grieve their child. It violates the natural order of life, this burying of a child. Beyond that sentiment, there are very few things that can be said unanimously of Gold Star mothers.

There are many who wear their Gold Star every day, often along with their child’s dog tags, and remembrance bracelets. Though it often makes them cry, they want to tell every person they meet of the sacrifices of a few that enables the freedom of the many. From the cashier at the grocery store to the fellow passenger on the train, they bare their soul to foster awareness and understanding of the terrible price of war, the cost of freedom.

It is said no one prays harder for peace than the soldier, except the mother of the soldier. Truer words have never been spoken. I admire the courage and strength of these Gold Star moms who daily bare their pain to educate the larger civilian world.

There are also Gold Stars who choose to not discuss with the world at large what is the most intimate and soul-searing fact about their lives. For them, it is too personal, or often, too painful to constantly explain what the Gold Star means. They prefer to honor and remember privately, only occasionally and selectively sharing this deepest part of themselves.

Personally, I fall somewhere in the middle. I write rather than talk. But, I do not leave the house without my son’s dog tags around my neck, nestled close to my heart but they are rarely worn above my clothes. Even then, when people notice the tags and ask if I served, my response is nothing more than, "No, my son did" with no further elaboration.

Some days it is merely because I don’t feel like exposing my heart and soul for the merely curious. Others it is a matter of being selfish. All I have left are my memories and I guard them zealously, as if sharing will somehow diminish them. I am completely aware that thought is irrational. I know the more people I talk to about my son the more will remember him, thereby increasing the memories. Still, some days, most days, I choose to hold close and private what is in my heart.

Yet, I write. I have written for public consumption the story of the day I received the knock on my door that every military family fears, and the days that followed. I have shared how the response of my family and friends as well as the community at large has shaped how I now live my life. But, I am not there to see the reaction, that first shock and often uncomfortable bewilderment of strangers and acquaintances that says they do not know how to respond, what to say, how to treat me. And I am not there to see the all too familiar reaction of pity, something I most certainly do not want.

Recently, I heard a wonderful definition of the difference between sympathy and empathy. Sympathy is about how you feel, your reaction; empathy is about how the other person feels.

A sympathetic response often includes the statement, “I don’t know how I’d feel”. An empathetic reaction is more along the lines of, “I can’t imagine how you feel”. It may seem minor, but to the person on the receiving end, it makes all the difference in the world.

Most who are going through something so traumatic it elicits an emotional response in others don’t want you, the listener, the observer, to know how they feel. They don’t and wouldn’t wish it on anyone else. It is the reason the worst curse we can level at another is “I hope someday you know what this is”.

Whether it was done by intentional design, aware of those distinctions or it was simply the product of a kinder, more socially gentle time, Gold Star Mother’s Day strikes the perfect balance between sympathy and empathy.

On this day, America is called upon to reflect on the sacrifice, the loss and the almost unendurable pain of a mother that has lost her child. Remembrance of the honor of the service, acknowledgment of the pain that does not end is coupled with the thanks of a grateful nation and the promise that the son or daughter lost will be remembered by generations yet unborn.

So today, I wear my Gold Star pin. Today, I will stand up and allow myself to be publicly recognized. I will answer the questions. I will try not to cry. Or cringe when strangers who don't know what else to do are moved to give me a hug. I will offer a tissue to the many who spontaneously shed a tear for me. 

When a grizzled veteran of a war long past acknowledges me, I will as always offer my sincere gratitude for their service and sacrifice. And welcome them home. I know I represent in their eyes the mothers of their fallen brothers, and it is my duty to tell them though I am sad my child did not come back, I am grateful for every mother's child that did.

I wear my pin publicly today for my sisters in grief who are not yet able to stand. Just as others wear their pins every day when I cannot. 

At 7:00pm (EDT) tonight, September 29, 2013, light a candle. In gratitude. In remembrance. In honor of the mothers who have this special day set aside for them in acknowledgement of their loss. Say a prayer with us that no more mothers will know this pain. Say "Thank You" to the members of this club no one wants to join.

Say a prayer for an end to all war.

Pray for peace.