I remember the fallen, not as distant figures, but as beloved people whose absence still shapes the lives of those who loved them. I remember the Gold Star families who carry grief into ordinary days, who continue living with a loss most of us hope never to understand. I remember that Memorial Day is not simply a long weekend, a sale, or the unofficial beginning of summer. It is a day set apart for those who gave everything.

Each November, as Veterans Day draws near, I find myself reflecting on the many faces behind the word service. It’s a word that has quietly shaped every season of my life — as a daughter watching her father lace up his boots, as a wife who knows the rhythm of duty days and homecomings, as a mother teaching her children what it means to belong to something greater than ourselves.