I shouldn’t be alive.

My Grandfather, just a teenager, was part of the first wave of marines to storm the beaches of Iwo Jima.

In my Grandfather’s division, the average battalion which landed with 36 officers and 885 enlisted, ended up with about 16 officers and 300 enlisted from the original battalion.

My Grandfather was badly wounded but was one of the lucky ones who made it out alive, and returned home to marry my Grandmother.

In 1950, the Korean war broke out and my Grandfather’s division was sent again to fight in another part of the world.

With a wife at home, having lost a baby just the year before and a new baby at home, he was going to fight overseas. Again. Such was the band of brotherhood my grandfather had with his buddies.

But when they got to the recruiting center, my Grandfather realized he had forgotten his wallet. When he went home to retrieve it, he decided he just didn’t want to go back to war (my belief is that my Grandmother may have given him a bit of an earful about it as well).

But I’m so glad she did.

Of all the friends that went to re-enlist with my Grandfather… none came back alive. None.

My dad was born the following year.

But for the grace of God and a forgotten wallet, I shouldn’t be alive.

Today we are honoring and remembering all the servicemembers who have fought and died defending our freedom, our country, and eachother.

Thank you.