Unsung
Every year on this day, while we sing praises for those men and women that returned and those that did not, I focus and think.
Specifically, I think about those guys and girls whose names we will never know. The unknown soldiers. I think about their stories. Who they were, what they did in the war, how they died. I think about how we can never know.
People's stories are forever lost. Not just soldiers, but everyone that ever dies. Human life can seem so fragile. We strive for individuality but we all die in the end. Even people who are revered by history, remembered for their deeds, even they aren't really remembered. History writes its own story, the truth be damned. We can read about Einstein, Plato, Helen of Troy, The Beatles. What history notes about them isn't who they really are. History remembers their accomplishments but never the person. They are just names. We never know who they are, just what they did.
I want to know.
Specifically, I think about those guys and girls whose names we will never know. The unknown soldiers. I think about their stories. Who they were, what they did in the war, how they died. I think about how we can never know.
People's stories are forever lost. Not just soldiers, but everyone that ever dies. Human life can seem so fragile. We strive for individuality but we all die in the end. Even people who are revered by history, remembered for their deeds, even they aren't really remembered. History writes its own story, the truth be damned. We can read about Einstein, Plato, Helen of Troy, The Beatles. What history notes about them isn't who they really are. History remembers their accomplishments but never the person. They are just names. We never know who they are, just what they did.
I want to know.
