IN MEMORIUM

Yesterday, my wife and I attended the funeral of her best friend’s mother. It was a simple ceremony, and in dignity and solemnity, she was commended to the eternal, putting down the struggles of ordinary life.

Afterward, we chose to drive through the cemetery and we pondered at the inscriptions chiseled into the cold stone markers. Each represented a real once living person, with friends and family, and a life lived to the fullest extent each was capable.

As in most memorial gardens, there lie the dead from our nation’s wars, interred after realizing the ultimate price of their pledge. Some dating back almost to the revolution, they rested in the hope that we should hold their sacrifice sacred, and to give notice of that for which they died.

It was a moment for reflection, not lost on those of us living, who in the hush of a mid-day’s breeze, could hear the breath of patriots calling to us, urging our hearts to enjoin with their cause. Of life, of liberty, and with a generosity only those born into freedom can muster, they endowed us with prosperity, and the gift of opportunity.

It also was the first day of fall, the season where the year hints of its impending demise, and that the hush of winter would soon be upon the landscape. The leaves have gone golden and will progress into crimson. The sun hangs lower and for far less of the day than before. And as for the breath of autumn, the words aren't clear any longer as to what our ancestors promised.

Looking back, we saw spring blossom one July afternoon, whereby a nation arose from the tyrannical ashes of a people whose homeland had misused and forgotten. In the name of God’s sovereign bestowment to all humanity, brave men banded to pledge their lives, their liberty, and their sacred honor. They took to arms and put off the yoke of a king, for the sake of their children, and of all generations to follow.

Others, in later years, gave homage to that pledge by leaving the shores of home to secure the freedom of others. They conquered distant lands, only to return the soil soaked with their own blood, to the people for whom they came to save. They reserved only enough land in which to lay to rest the bravest amongst them.

It was as summertime then, and from invention to investment, from fashion to frivolity, in all ways of culture, science, philosophy, medicine, and machinery, the liberty bought in the blood of our youth, paid the dividends only freedom can grant. But the reason for their success is because imagination is only incited when it is set free, and with the jewel of capitalism, shining like a distant star upon which to navigate, our people put their hands and shoulders to their industry and showed the globe what it meant to be powerful and secure.
And occasionally, in the quite moments of our memorials, we stopped to remember to whom we owe such gratitude. Patriots all, they fought to ensure our people would have the opportunity to peruse that idyllic goal promised by the founders.

But in time, seasons pass. The passion that flourishes in youth, dims with age and follows its course from vigor, through lust, to confidence, and into forgetfulness. We scarcely recall the reason for their graves, and the struggle for autonomy no longer gives rise to contemplation.

Thus, here we are. The leaves are turning, the colors fading, and the warmth in which we basked for so very long has cooled. It was only a moment’s time in the great scheme of humanity that we were strong and agile, and able to stand proud in self-definition. But apathy does its cruelty, and people forget as years progress. All too comfortable in what they have, they never realize that in a twinkling, it could be lost, stolen, or simply given away.

Diligence is all too necessary now. The season is passing more quickly than before, and we seem to be heading headlong into winter. As our independence weakens, and oppressive civic paternalism grows, we seem to be running full-tilt into the deep chill where “We the People” are no more. Winter’s wind may well be a gasp, the fears of our founders realized.

For you see, today the President stood before the world and decried the inhumanity and desperate imperialism of America. Aligned with the top terrorists of the world, he spoke out against a small and desolate country, our staunchest cohort and most steadfast international friend. He paid homage to dictators, and pledged our support in tearing down the prowess of a nation that once held high the principles of liberty and democracy.

In one speech, he tore down the foundational beliefs that fueled manifest destiny, and gave aim to the bullets of those who rally to fight against our homeland. In his oration, it was America whose sin was in daring to profit by making the world prosperous.

But such was to be expected, as his aim is one of national degeneration and a tacit alignment with globalism. And though it means the empowerment of our enemies, while inciting the reproach of our allies, his concern is for his own legacy, even if that story is written in the further blood of patriots, who serve and die at his leisure, all for an illusive dream that may well pass without reawakening.

And so, with further reflection, the lives of those – the brave – call to us. From the tomb they ask only that we give ear to their cause. For it was in freedom they were born, and it is for liberty that they died. Only in active opposition to this corruption of our Constitution may we find the redemption of their dignity.

For the time being, we can little avoid the fading of fall into winter. But how severe will be this season is yet to be told. By the almanac of politics, brace well, my friend. For unless we are able to turn from this present malignant direction, the embrace of such an early frost, will give way to an icy dungeon, built with every wayward house resolution and senate vote.