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memorial day www.hispasturepress.comI brought my satchel of notes and planner with me. I had decided to turn a chair or two into office space as I sat in the waiting room in anticipation of a one-hour stay.

An elderly couple caught my attention as they helped each other walk into the room. When they sat down, the husband placed his hat, which displayed bright gold stitching “WWII,” on his knee. As a daughter of a father that was proud of the years that he had served in the U.S. Army, my heart swelled at the site of the mounted hat.

Moments later, another couple entered the waiting area. After they settled into their seats, I noticed the man was also wearing a similar hat. I thought it was only going to be a short matter of time before the veterans struck up a conversation. The first husband looked at his wife as he rose up, “I need to go pay someone a visit.”

The men patted each other on the shoulders and I heard places of war mentioned, one was Okinawa. My thoughts funneled down to one, this is the way it should be. Without a prompt, this was the unspoken understanding between two strangers — admiration, support, warmth, and love.

The dainty wife looked at me. With honor and respect in her voice, and with tiny tear-drops on her eyelids, “He’s found someone to talk to.” She knew why, and without a doubt, she was also pleased.

When her husband returned to his seat, she laced her fingers through his, “You found someone to talk to.” They both smiled and my heart melted. Time and space filled with unspoken words.

There, in that bland waiting room, one thing stood out – the image of love and devotion. Devotion between two men that had fought for all of our lives, and a woman and a man who had made it through the ups and downs of wedded life. They had bound their gnarled fingers together, held in peace as one.

My own lesson for the day, and one that should never fade from me, to remember and treasure these things. Love. Devotion. Support. Never forget to hold those that have fought for us in honor and admiration.

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