Long before it became the unofficial start of summer, Memorial Day was a national reckoning – a sacred pause born from bloodshed and bound by the solemn duty to remember. Its origins lie in the aftermath of the Civil War, when communities across the country began holding springtime tributes to fallen soldiers, decorating graves with flowers and reciting prayers. What began as scattered local observances grew into a national tradition of mourning and honor, one that has evolved alongside the country itself.

I’ve come to believe Memorial Day tells us more about our national character than most people realize – and more about our capacity for both remembrance and forgetting.

The day became formally recognized in 1868 when General John A. Logan issued a proclamation calling for a nationwide “Decoration Day” on May 30, choosing a date that was not associated with any particular battle, allowing for a neutral day of remembrance for all who had fallen. By the late 19th century, Memorial Day ceremonies were being held in nearly every state. Following World War I, the scope expanded to include the fallen from all American conflicts and in 1971, Memorial Day was officially declared a federal holiday.

Growing up, I thought Memorial Day was simply about honoring veterans – a mistake that millions of Americans make each year. The confusion between Memorial Day, Veterans Day and Flag Day is easy to understand, but the distinctions matter deeply.

Memorial Day, observed on the last Monday in May, is specifically for those who died in military service. It is a day of mourning, remembrance and solemn reflection for the fallen. Veterans Day, observed on November 11, honors all who have served in the armed forces, both living and deceased – it celebrates their service and sacrifice. Flag Day, observed on June 14, commemorates the adoption of the American flag and celebrates the symbol itself, rather than those who served under it.

The confusion is not semantic. It is moral, emotional and historical. Memorial Day is not about who wore the uniform – it’s about who never took it off again. When solemnity gives way to slogans and sacrifice is smothered beneath sales, we don’t just lose clarity – we lose reverence.

Today, we owe an immeasurable debt to those who made the ultimate sacrifice. From the muddy fields of Antietam to the beaches of Normandy, from the hills of Korea to the jungles of Vietnam, from the deserts of Iraq to the mountains of Afghanistan – countless men and women have laid down their lives so that we might live in freedom. Their sacrifice was not abstract; it was personal, immediate and final.

We are free to speak our minds because they silenced theirs forever. We gather with our families because they left theirs behind. We pursue our dreams because they surrendered theirs. We sleep peacefully because they accepted that they might never wake again. Every freedom we exercise, every right we claim, every opportunity we pursue exists because someone was willing to die for it.

Their sacrifice transcends politics, geography and generation. Whether they fell at 18 or 38, whether they served one tour or many, whether they died in famous battles or forgotten skirmishes, they all shared the same willingness to place duty above self, country above comfort and principle above preservation. That willingness – that ultimate act of selflessness – deserves more than our casual remembrance.

Perhaps the deeper problem is not confusion, but distance. Fewer Americans have direct ties to military service than in generations past. Less than one percent of our population serves in uniform. That gap can dull our collective memory and make our words shallow. Yet if the day is to mean anything, we must resist that drift. The rituals – flags at half-staff, wreaths placed at memorials, names read aloud – are not mere tradition. They are a national act of remembering.

We shape our national identity by how we speak about Memorial Day, how we mark it and how we teach it to the next generation. This isn’t someone else’s job. It’s ours. Words carry weight. So does remembrance. “We cannot dedicate – we cannot consecrate – we cannot hallow – this ground,” Lincoln said at Gettysburg. But what we can do, still, is remember why they died.

Their sacrifice calls us to be worthy of the freedom they purchased with their lives. It challenges us to build a nation deserving of their devotion, to pursue justice worthy of their commitment and to extend the liberty they died defending. We honor them not just with flowers and flags, but with how we live, how we treat one another and how we steward the democracy they preserved.

And so, we pause. We remember. Not out of habit, but out of obligation. Because the cost of liberty is written in names we must never forget – and in gratitude, we honor what words alone can never repay.