Happy Is Not the Word–at Least for Me

It used to be.  When I was growing up it seemed fitting.  It meant barbecues, picnics, a day off school and work.  Happy described it perfectly–merriment.  But now?  Today?  Happy isn’t the word.  It seems too little, not enough.

Maybe it’s because we live in a post September 11th world.  We endure travel restrictions.  We use colors to describe the terrorist threat level.  Our children know a word we never used when we were growing up—terrorist.  We hear about war and rumors of war.  We are a little more cautious and aware.

We read of soldiers and their families.  And this time it hits home.  We know them.  We interact with them.  We honor them.  We grieve loss with them.  We are them.

The flag.  It even holds different meaning for some of us.  It graces our porches more than it used to.  It stands high atop buildings and rooftops, perhaps showing unity in our country.  It whips around in the wind and whispers, “We will never forget!”

But to say, “Happy Memorial Day.”  I can’t.  I only speak for myself.  There has to be a better word.  A stronger word.  A word that holds deeper meaning.  I don’t know the word.  But happy isn’t it.

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