Why Memorial Day Is Personal to Me

Memorial Day has always carried a deeper meaning in my heart—not just as a day of remembrance, but as a reminder of the cost of freedom. For me, it’s not about sales or cookouts. It’s about my dad.

My father proudly served in the Vietnam War. He didn’t come home with physical wounds you could see, but he came back carrying invisible ones. He was exposed to Agent Orange, and later, the contaminated water at Camp Lejeune—exposures that would eventually claim his life, long after the war was over and his uniform was hung up for good.

He lived a life of service, honor, and quiet strength. But the truth is, his battle didn’t end when he left the warzone. The very soil and water he trusted as part of his duty slowly worked against him. And yet, he never once complained. He believed in this country, believed in protecting the freedoms so many of us enjoy without a second thought.

That’s why Memorial Day hits differently. Because freedom doesn’t come free. It never has. There are men and women—like my dad—who paid with their health, their peace of mind, and, ultimately, their lives. And there are families like mine who continue to carry their stories forward.

We owe it to them to keep fighting for the ideals they served to protect. We honor their memory not just in silence, but in action—in standing up for justice, for care for our veterans, for truth, and for the freedoms they swore to defend.

So today, I remember my dad. I remember his laugh, his strength, his hands, and his sacrifice. And I recommit to making sure his story—and the stories of countless others—are never forgotten.

Let this day be more than a hashtag. Let it be a promise.

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