Bittersweet memorial

Veterans Day is, to me, the definition of bittersweet. The day is usually dark and gray, but the streets are lined with splashes of color, the Stars and Stripes, Old Glory, the Red, White and Blue, the American Flag.
Today my son, as a member of the Boy Scouts of America left the house at 6 a.m. to post flags throughout the neighborhood. It was his first time providing this service, and he was so excited, pleased and proud to do so. He has always loved the flag.
Twelve years ago, the day after Veterans Day, my father, himself a veteran of World War II died. His large, gentle heart, which had carried him into countless battles, and years thereafter of marching in parades, doffing his hat and bowing his head at the sign of the American flag, finally, simply, burst.
On that same day, 12 years ago, I sent out my wedding announcements. My father was promised in a blessing he would live to see his “children married and his grandchildren grown.” I was the last of his five children to tie the knot.
There are no words to express my feelings for this great man, my father, my hero. My father came from humble stock. The son of a Danish immigrant and an Idaho farm girl, he lost his own father at the age of eight during the depression. From that point on he was a man. He helped support his mother and his younger brother. When the time came to go to war, he went.
I know little about those years of war, but I do have as one of my prized possessions his Purple Heart, given to me by his own hands because I told him I would like to have it.
He raised a family of five, seeing to it that we all got a college education even though he had to cut his education short by one year so he could go to work and support his wife and baby daughter.
He served his church, coming home after a hard day hauling hay to wash up and spend evenings in meetings. He served the community as a city councilman and president of the Farm Bureau. He served in the Veterans of Foreign Wars, donning his uniform on weekends to provide the military salute at funerals.
He served, and loved, and we will always love him for his service.
So when I see a bright red, white and blue flag against a dark sky I feel pride, humility, and the lose of one great man, who will live forever in the hearts of his children.