Despite the fact that Death did not take a holiday on this particular holiday, I managed to find time to go to Shiloh and wander about the grounds of the National Cemetery.  With camera in hand I slowly, quietly moved among the monuments, noting how many were merely blocks of marble with numbers carved into the tops, or upright arches marking very simply the grave of an “Unknown U.S. Solider”.  And before every marker was placed an American flag, thousands of them precisely one foot away from every stone, forming line after line of red, white, and blue.  The monuments run before you as you enter the cemetery, fanning out in all directions, yet always straight, always neatly aligned, row after row after row.  For those fortunate enough to be identified, there is a name carved across the face of the stone; for those truly fortunate, a date of death is included.  Very few of the earlier ones bear a date of birth or any other personal information.  In the days that followed the battle, there was no time for individual graves.  The used though probably not preferred method of burial was in trenches dug to hold hundreds of bodies at a time—communal graves offering more sanitation than sanctity.   

Following the war, the trenches of the Union soldiers were opened and their bodies moved to what is now the National Cemetery.  Somehow, two Confederates managed to find their way in, their graves marked by monuments with tops that come to a decisive point rather than the gently sloped arch of their Northern brothers.  Legend has it they were so to keep the Yankees from sitting on them, but given that Congress did not approve that design until forty plus years after the war, that may not hold water.  Surely as a nation we had healed to the point where desecration of Confederate graves was unacceptable.  Maybe.

Through the years the cemetery has accommodated others who desired to consecrate their remains to her soil until the grounds could no longer welcome those whose status as veterans or the spouse of such would allow their interment.  As you wander among the graves you will find monuments with names carved on both the front and the back.  Those belong to a veteran and his or her spouse, buried one atop the other, in an effort to conserve space and allow for the entrance of a few more who have served their country honorably.

The peace of this place brings about a serenity that cannot be described.  The quiet calms the soul and mind—and the realization of who lies beneath your feet is deeply humbling, for the majority of those who dwell beneath this sod are those who gave their lives fighting for a cause in which they believed . . . a cause for which they were willing to die.  Far from home, fearful of the finality each day might bring, they found a resting place in a place of beauty, surrounded by those of like mind and heart, forgotten for the most part, until days designed to bring forth their memories once more.

We honor those who have made the ultimate sacrifice, but in so many ways most everyone who rests in the arms of Death has sacrificed to some degree.  Whether it is the mother who spent much of her life caring for her family or the father who lived as an example for his children while providing for their needs or the spouse whose focus in life was the happiness and well-being of another, each has sacrificed, perhaps not so greatly as to give their life in death, but a sacrifice none the less.  And each is worthy of the honor given them—and the reverence that comes when we wander among their graves.

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