More Than a Long Weekend

Memorial Day isn't about barbecues, sales, or the unofficial start of summer. It's about empty chairs at kitchen tables and stories that will never be finished.

It's about those who stepped between death and their brothers, trading their tomorrows for someone else's today. About men and women who died under foreign stars with aspirations scattered like shell casings across distant soil. About countless others whose names are carved in stone and memory.

Their sacrifice carries weight that can never be repaid, only honored. Every sunrise they'll never see becomes more precious. Every laugh, every moment of peace, every ordinary Tuesday morning is sacred because of what they gave. Some prices can never be repaid, only honored.

Service takes many forms, but the heart of it remains the same: choosing others before self. Different uniforms, same sky. Various roles, same mission. Different paths, same destination.

For those who've seen me reference this before, when I say "Till Valhalla," I'm not just referencing Norse mythology but making a promise: I will remember. I will honor your sacrifice. I will live in a way that makes your death mean something. I will carry your story until it's our turn to join you in that great hall. It's not goodbye. It's "until."

If you're reading this and you carry your ghosts, your empty chairs, your untouched glasses…you're not alone. The weight you carry is shared by thousands who understand that some memories are too precious to set down, too important to forget.

If you've never worn a uniform or lost someone who did, that's okay. Memorial Day isn't about making you feel guilty for your peace. The day is meant to spend a little time remembering that your freedom to enjoy this long weekend was paid for by people who gave up all their weekends. Forever.

We don't observe Memorial Day to dwell in grief. We do it to make promises, remember, carry forward the torch of their memory, and live worthy lives with the time we've been given. Their names are carved in marble and memory, in hearts and in the empty spaces they left behind. They live on in every choice we make to serve others, protect the innocent, and stand for something bigger than ourselves.

Your watch has ended, but your legacy continues. Till Valhalla, warriors. Your seats remain held in trust until we meet again.

To all who have lost someone in service to our country: your grief is honored, your sacrifice seen. To all who serve or have served: your courage echoes through generations. To the fallen: we remember. Always.