Opinion : Heroes among us: Still leading us in times of peace and war

Jacob Bunge and Megan Ternus play taps to honor fallen U.S. servicemen and women.

Retired Marine Larry Michael reads the Howitzer plaque unveiled Monday.

Howitzer dedication: Major Larry Michael cuts the ribbon during the annual Memorial Day service.

Larry Michael salutes those who died in the service of their country.

A light rain inspired the use of umbrellas and the shortening of the annual Memorial Day service.

Gold Star Daughter Marcia Hite, whose dad died in WWII, lays the wreath.

Lucas Murray joins the VSHS band percussionists in keeping time as the band marches.

Veterans march back from the bridge after honoring Navy dead.

Drum majors Sara Jorgensen and Emma Lippman guide the band as members march to the bridge.

Kyle Jorgensensen and Jacob Isbell play drums as the band marches.

Auxiliary members carry flags and the wreath to the bridge for the Navy tribute.

While most of the crowd was facing south or east during the end of the 2013 Memorial Day ceremony at Veterans Park, I looked west and south for a moment.

In doing so, I saw on Monday two heroes do silent, powerful things that the world should see and remember on every Memorial Day -- and every other day.

The veteran

First, I looked north.

Larry Michael, the retired U.S. Marine artillery fire support coordinator who fired just about every kind of artillery piece in the U.S. arsenal during the Vietnam War and afterwards, was getting into his car.

Larry is also a Parkinson's patient. Those who attended Monday's ceremony watched as Larry slowly walked from the car to the Howitzer, where he cut the ribbon, and listened as VPRD Director Duane Randall briefly recited the history of the Howitzer project, and Larry's donation that funded the cost of moving and painting the artillery piece.

Then as the crowd turned to face the front for the tribute to the fallen -- the rifle salute followed by the playing of taps -- I kept watching Larry.

The veteran slowly made his way to the car, in the rain. But instead of getting in the car and out of the rain, Larry insisted on standing to salute his fallen comrades. He stood, as friend held the umbrella, saluting as fellow veterans fired their weapons three times, and then as two high school band members played taps.

Nobody would have criticized Larry if he had simply gotten in his car, or even saluted from the front seat.

But that's not what he did. And although someone insisted on holding an umbrella to keep the vet from the rain, I have no doubt that Larry would have stood in the rain to salute those who died serving their country -- including soldiers he knew from Vietnam.

The mother

Then I looked west.

From under her umbrella and straw hat, Christine Brewer looked back at me and smiled.

Christine and Steve Brewer are the parents of Josh and Kyle, who have both seen action in the Middle East.

Last year, I heard the most moving Memorial Day speech ever -- not from a podium, but from outside the passenger window of Christine's car. Josh, who this year is safely home at an Army base in the U.S., had spent much of last year in what is probably the most dangerous place in Afghanistan.

Christine's "speech," delivered in private after she stopped her car on the street that winds past Veterans Park, consisted of reading Josh's most recent letter to her.

The letter was -- and is still -- a private conversation between a soldier and his mom. But there are couple of things I can share without betraying any confidences.

Not long after I talked to Christine, Josh posted on his Facebook page that he had just seen a video of a firefight. That video, he said, was terrifying -- even more terrifying than actually being in the firefight. Yeah, Josh had been watching a video of insurgents trying to kill him and his unit.

I can also tell you, without betraying any confidences, that Josh, in that letter from a year ago, had told his mother he was fine, even though a couple of days before he wrote the letter, his armored vehicle been targeted and even overturned by the force of an explosion of an IED (improvised explosive device).

Josh went on in that letter to describe a few more engagements with Taliban soldiers and how he and his unit had responded. Chris and I both had tears in our eyes by the time she finished reading that letter.

I didn’t talk to Chris or Steve on Memorial Day 2013, but in Chris's smile I saw the memories of a mother who just a year ago sat in her car and cried as she told a friend a few of the things her son had been going through while serving his country.

A few weeks after that conversation, Josh left Afghanistan with every member of his unit alive. He had accomplished his main mission.

After reading his letter, Chris told me about how that even as young as 5 or 6, Josh felt called to be a soldier, and how in Afghanistan, he felt he had been sent their to keep the members of his unit alive.

While all of his men came home safely, Josh knew many soldiers from other units who died in Afghanistan, including three who died in December of 2011 during an IED explosion, and a fourth who was injured in that attack and died three months later.

Seeing Chris's smile during this year's event made me cry, as I remembered our conversation of a year earlier -- and as I wondered what she was remembering while standing there in the rain. The last time I spoke to Chris, at Fareway, she was concerned about Josh, but only in the way that most other moms have experienced. She was worried about Josh's new assignment and whether he'd really enjoy what he was doing. There was no longer the fear that she had lived with day-to-day while she was receiving occasional emails from the outpost in the mountains of Afghanistan.

The many

Like I told the veterans who gave me an award of appreciation a few months ago, I am the third straight 4F member of my family. My grandfather had broken a leg in a bizarre car-horse incident and they wouldn't let him join his brother in WWII. My father was legally blind in his left eye, even as a young man; for him, Vietnam was never a possibility. Me, I tore up my left knee in gym in high school (ACL). Even before that, I never considered the possibility of enlisting in any of the armed services.

While I have an aunt who had a successful career as an Air Force nurse and cousin who survived being shot in the leg in Vietnam, I have never felt the fears of those who have had soldiers or sailors in Iraq, Afghanistan, or any other place where Americans have died for freedom.

But standing there on Monday, looking at those who have served our country all over the world -- and families of soldiers and sailors who have known the fears that are all-too-familiar to those with loved ones -- I realized I was standing among many how have known that fear and pain.

And to all of you -- to all of you veterans, as well as those who are spouses, children or siblings of men and women in uniform: Thanks.

Thanks for what your families did during times of war and crisis.

And thanks, for doing what you can in times of peace to help an all-too-forgetful nation remember.

May those of us who have known nothing but peace and safety always remember what a privilege it is to stand beside you in the rain.