Bittersweet Events on Art

Hill…Remembering 9-11

By Tom Anselm

As we walked onto the red, white and blue display on Art Hill in Forest Park, we heard a soft tinkling sound. It was as if tiny bells were chiming, randomly, constantly. American flags, 6,868 of them, were waving gently on this warm early-September morning. Each one symbolized a fallen member of the US Military, men and women from every branch who had given the ultimate sacrifice in wars since that fate-filled day of September 11, 2001.

Operation Enduring Freedom. New Dawn. Iraqi Freedom. Inherent Resolve. Freedoms’s Sentinel.

All pieces of the War on Terror resulting from that awful attack on our homeland. On each flagpole was attached a small photo, and a replica of the dog tags identifying each soldier. Name, rank, serial number. The Operation in which they served. The date of their death.

As the breeze wafted over the field, those tags tapped and bumped against the metal flagpoles. And thus, the tinkling bells. It was a supremely somber and bittersweet scene.

I was there on a Wednesday, a few days before 9-11-16. The display was sponsored by an organization called Flags of Valor (flagsofvalor.com). The lovely Jill and I had our littlest grand baby Evelyn Faye in tow. She was enjoying the movement of the flags as only a one-year-old can.

As I held her near one, she reached out to touch the photo, took the dog tag in her chubby little fingers. She looked up at me, it seemed, sadly. Jill, gazing out over the slope leading to the Grand Basin from the top of the Hill, remarked that it was as if the spirit of each fallen soldier was standing next to their flag. Tears rolled freely from her eyes.

I said it was a bittersweet experience. Bittersweet, you may ask? How so?

Well, the bitterness comes from the loss of so many in youth, of their futures. Of the pain and suffering of their families, grieving the wages of war, which is always death.

And the sweet? The sweet comes from the honor that was being bestowed upon the memory of these men and women, the bravery that they must have shown in peril, and the debt we owe them for keeping us safe.

And bitter, again. Because in the center of the hill flew a solitary flag paying tribute to those who have died as a result of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Many, tragically, by their own hand.

The wages of war. Would that such a display were never needed. Would that conflicts could be solved amicably, peacefully. That hatred and conquest and evil didn’t take such a heavy toll. But, alas, that is not the case.

As I held this precious baby, as we stood in the field, I said a prayer for all those there represented. And then another, for the future of that little one in my arms, and all those to come like her. Will there ever be the “Peace On Earth” that these soldiers died for? I wondered.

But on that day, I more fully understood the phrase “the land of the free, because of the brave.”

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