Freedom Is Not Free

I visited the Arizona Veterans' Memorial Cemetery in Marana, AZ today. There was a nice ceremony at 8 a.m., but attending the ceremony is not the primary reason I went there. I went to hear the stories.

Gravestones at the Arizona Veterans' Memorial Cemetery in Marana, AZ - Memorial Day 2026

Once the ceremony was over and most of the people had left, I looked for families standing around a particular grave.

I walked up and asked the family to tell me the story of their loved one. I’ve done this for several years. Every time, the people I talk to have been ready and willing to tell their story. I was privileged to hear three stories today.

I walked up to a woman in her 70s and a man in his 50s standing around a very decorated grave. They’d even placed a picture there of someone in his Air Force uniform with a chest full of ribbons.

The man’s name was “Abel”. Just behind the flowers and the flags, I could see a 2025 on his gravestone. They told me he’d only been gone a few months. He had served in the Air Force for 25 years. He’d been deployed 12 times. He was an aircraft mechanic, and he was very good at his job.

The two people at his grave today were his mother and brother. This was their first Memorial Day without him. Even though it was already 80° under the hot desert sun at nine in the morning, they had brought a blanket, spread it on the ground, and planned to spend the next several hours with Abel.

I saw another lady not far away. She was sitting in a chair under a shade tree. Looking out at the graves. I asked if she knew someone there. She said “Oh yes, my husband is here.“ I asked when he had served. He had served in Vietnam.

I asked when he passed away. She named the day last October when he had passed. She said “We were married for 53 years. This is the first time in my life I have ever been alone.” I stood there for several minutes and let her tell me her whole story. It was heartbreaking.

One of the other things I try to do on Memorial Day is find the grave of a soldier who is about the age of my children. When I find that grave, I think about a life cut short. Children that they didn’t get to have or raise. And grandchildren they never got to share with their parents.

I’d been to several parts of the cemetery, and most of the graves I had found were people closer to my age than my children’s. I have two daughters, both married in their mid-30s. Both with children— the grandchildren I love very much.

I was about to leave the cemetery when I saw a couple about my age standing in front of a grave. As they walked away, I asked if they would tell me the story of the soldier they had come to visit.

The soldier was their son “Mark.” Mark had served in Iraq. His father told me Mark always wanted to serve in the army since he was young. He wanted to fly helicopters. Mark died several years ago. It seemed like the story of his passing was a bit too painful for his father to share the details. So I stopped him before he got to that part.

I told Mark’s mother and father how much I appreciated their son’s service and sacrifice, and that I appreciated their sacrifice too. I said I couldn’t imagine how hard it is to send a son to war.

I told them that I had two daughters about their son’s age. I said I had grandchildren. I told them how sorry I was that their son would never be able to give them grandchildren. They told me they were so glad that someone was interested in hearing about their son.

I have never served in the armed forces. But I am forever grateful for the freedom those who served, and especially those who gave their lives, have provided for me and my family.

I saw it on the faces of so many people at the cemetery today. FREEDOM IS NOT FREE.