Katie, Colton, Conner & Jeff

Katie, Colton, Conner & Jeff
My soul mate, Jeff, and Katie, Colton and Conner, the three gifts from God that call me "Mom"

Monday, May 30, 2016

A Soldier's Effect on a Little Girl

So much of the significance of Memorial Day in the United States has become lost in cook-outs, boating on the lake, and fun times, noting the "official kick-off" to summer.  In my opinion, we, as a country, do not show proper respect and honor to the men and women who serve in our military.  Opinions creep in about our personal feelings about war; what we think is right or wrong; placing ourselves in a position of judge and jury on so many issues, of which we have no personal knowledge or experience.  We critique those who have served, and the wars and conflicts in which they served.  Hindsight is always 20/20, but in times of war, many times difficult decisions have to be made.  Certainly, there are numerous wars, in looking back, that might have been avoided -- perhaps, should have been avoided.  But Memorial Day, should not be a time for accusations, protests, or defacing military monuments.  Memorial Day is a time for remembrance of those men and women who have served this country -- for YOU; for ME; for all of us.

Throughout my fifty-one years, I have known many that have served in the military.  My uncle L.T. Eastland, served in WWII, and I am honored to have his Purple Heart medal.  My father-in-law, E.L. Sweet served in the Pacific during WWII.  My father was drafted for the Korean War, but became ill at Fort Jackson, SC, receiving an honorable discharge and never going to Korea.  My uncle, Robert Blaylock, served in the Navy during the Vietnam War.  I still have the beautiful dolls that he sent me, from the area following the war.  

I don't think I really ever grasped the true magnitude of the respect and honor due those who have served us, until I visited Arlington National Cemetery a few years ago.  The hills of military graves roll as far as the eye can see.  It is a quiet place for respect and remembrance.  It was especially moving to me because my sweet friend, Monika, had buried her precious son at Arlington, only weeks before I was there.  Ryan Maddux Lawrence was a dynamic young man with a bright life ahead of him; however, his willingness to serve, and his love for this country, changed the journey of his life -- and the lives of those who loved him.

As a very little girl, I did not really understand the aspect of war.  In the late 1960s, I saw black and white images of soldiers with guns, fields of rice, and Asian people in strange hats on television.  I saw images of young protestors that were against the war.  I heard the slogan, "Make Love, Not War," but I truly did not understand what it all meant.  However, I did understand that the war meant that a handsome young man from our church was going away, and everyone was very concerned about it.

I remember a beautiful young woman named Dottie that was dating a handsome boy named James Edmund Peay.  They were young -- in their early 20s, and so happy.  Dottie was a teacher, and they were going to get married one day.  I remember hearing my parents talk about a "draft number" coming up, and a quick marriage, only a couple of weeks before the young man, "Jim," left for army camp.  I remember the young girl coming to church alone, and I remember the happiness being gone from her face.

I also remember my mother crying one day in the kitchen.  I remember driving to Franklin with my parents, very quiet.  I remember standing in a line, down a sidewalk, at a house, close to the square in Franklin.  I remember going up the front steps and holding my mother's hand.  I remember the darkness of the house, and the muffled conversation.  I remember hugging my daddy's leg because this place made me feel strange.  I remember him picking me up and catching a glimpse of Dottie in the next room.  She was crying and wearing black.  I remember getting closer to her, and seeing Jim, lying in a box beside of her.  As we got closer, I could see him clearly.  His skin seemed darker, and there was a netting over his face and hands.  He wore a uniform.  As Mother and Daddy talked with Dottie, I remember looking at Jim's hands.  They were covered with scrapes and scratches.  I remember staying with my grandmother a day or so later, while my parents went to his funeral.  I remember their sadness, telling the young man's bride, Dottie, had worn her wedding dress at his funeral. 


I was not quite four years old, according to records that I found today online.  James Edmund Peay was born in 1945, and he died on January 7, 1968.  He was twenty-two years old.  For me, to be only three and a half years old on that cold, winter day in 1968, those memories have always been with me.  I always knew that this young man paid the ultimate sacrifice, but today, seeing his record -- and photograph -- online, truly made me remember.  Dottie continued to be at church following his death, but eventually, her life took her elsewhere.  I often wondered what happened to her.  I wondered if she ever remarried or had children.

So, this morning, that young couple came to my mind.  With technology, I searched online, and found some records on that young man from Franklin, Tennessee.  I also read a testimony of a fellow soldier, stating that Jim was the first Christian influence he experienced in the service.  Wow!  What a legacy

https://www.fold3.com/page/632317036_james_edmund_peay/

I also found an article from 2014, where a memorial bridge in Williamson county was named in his honor.  According to the article, Dottie had a different last name, so it is my prayer and hope that she found happiness in her life, following such a tragedy.


http://www.williamsonherald.com/features/special_sections/article_f48b66dc-691f-11e4-a0bd-df9c5ab73878.html

So, today, I thank U.S. Army, Specialist, James E. Peay for his ultimate sacrifice for this country; for YOU, and for ME.