Memorial Day — in respect and honor — holds it all

Condensed from “Letters of Note” online newsletter:

July 14, 1861

My very dear wife,

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my Country I am ready. I have no misgivings about or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.

But my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours — and replace them in this life with care and sorrow … is it weak or dishonorable that while the banner of purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, underneath my unbounded love for you my dear wife and children should struggle in fierce though useless contest with my love of Country.

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night when two thousand men are sleeping around me. And I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my Country, and thee.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless. And yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly. I feel most deeply grateful to God and you that I have enjoyed blissful moments with you so long. And how hard it is for me to give them up; and burn to ashes the hopes of future years when God willing we might still have lived and loved together and seen our boys grow up to honorable manhood around us.

If I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I loved you nor that when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield it will whisper your name. If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they love, I shall always be with you in the brightest day and darkest night.

Little Willie is too young to remember me long, but my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters.

Oh! Sarah, I wait for you — then come to me and lead thither my children.

Sullivan

Sullivan Ballou, a 32-year-old lawyer, left his wife of five years and two sons at home, to serve as a major in the Union Army. Two weeks after writing this unsent letter he was killed in the First Battle of Bull Run — in a Civil War that lasted four years and took the lives of 750,000 people. The letter was with his belongings and given to his widow. Sarah was 24 when he died. She lived another 56 years and never remarried. She's buried beside Sullivan in Providence, Rhode Island.

Then or now — the essence of grief and loss remains the same. Within the sameness is change. The one who serves gives his or her life — and, in sequel, life is dimmed for family and friends. Memorial Day — in respect and honor — holds it all.