Have you established a memorial? A sacred place in your heart?


Memorial Day commemorates those who died while serving in our armed forces—but this special day also inevitably reminds us of other losses we’ve experienced. It’s healthy to pause and ponder the way we make sacred room for these memories.

One half-mile south of the Occoquan River on I-95 in Virginia, one of the busiest corridors in our nation, is a place lodged in my memory and heart. The roadway is different now. What was then four lanes, divided by a grassy hill, has become eight lanes of concrete, ramps, guard rails and, of course, speeding cars and trucks.

Decades ago, I was the founding pastor of a new church in a planned community adjacent to I-95. Four of us in that community—three clergy and one paid fireman—did most of the fire and rescue runs during the daylight hours from Volunteer Fire Co. 10. Many of our calls were in response to accidents on I-95. To this day, I never drive that highway without remembering the spot of two runs we made.

One was filled with sadness—one with joy.

A doctor and his wife had recently bought a Winnebago Camper. She and her teenage son were driving north on I-95 in the camper while her husband followed in another car. On a curve over a steep hill, she lost control and the camper toppled over the guardrail and down the hill, bursting into flames. A young marine jumped from his car and pulled the burned son to safety but was not able to save his mother. Our arrival on the scene was to provide transportation of the victims and support for the father who was crumpled in shock and sadness. The son was flown to a burn-trauma center. There are no markers, and the landscape has been altered beyond recognition, but deeply seated in my mind’s eye is the trauma and sadness of a family’s instant transformation.

There is a memorial in my heart for the family as well as for the caregivers, the first responders, who served them well.

And, then the other memory follows.

It had not rained for three weeks in late August and the road had developed a film of oil. During a sudden rain storm, a north-bound 18-wheeler hydroplaned and the truck toppled with its wheels pointing north and the whole vehicle lay horizontal across all lanes.

One more amazing detail. A Ford Mustang had slid under the truck’s trailer as it toppled, with only the hood sticking out between the wheels. The rest of the car was crumpled under the trailer. When rescue teams arrived, we assumed no one was alive in the Mustang. Someone crawled under the trailer and tapped on the door of the crushed car.

Someone tapped back! Amazing! How to get to them? The rear trailer door was opened to reveal a full load of green tomatoes. Folks poured out of the blocked cars and began unloading the tomatoes onto the median strip. Special saws cut out the side of the trailer, the top was lifted off the Mustang, and four adults and two children, all pocked from broken glass, emerged from the vehicle.

I cried. What a miracle. There are no markers and the landscape has been altered beyond recognition, but deeply seated in my mind’s eye is the joy of that miraculous moment.

Across our land are countless markers left by families and friends to remember loved ones lost in traffic accidents. Roadside shrines of all descriptions dot the landscape as memorials, but for many, like myself, the memorial is carried in our minds and hearts—and the site is never passed without a moment of remembrance.

I write this to lift up each of our sacred moments of remembrance and to also express gratitude to the caregiver and first responders, be they professional or volunteer.

Memorial Day is a fitting occasion to remember those who died in our armed forces. If you have a chance to speak to a veteran this weekend about brothers or sisters lost in battle—their stories are likely to be quite specific about the location of the loss. By acknowledging the person and place—by remembering and sharing our stories like this—we are setting aside sacred space in our hearts.

THE REV. DR. BENJAMIN PRATT is a pastoral counselor with 30 years of experience working with men and women facing a wide range of stresses and tragedies. He also is one of ReadTheSpirit’s most popular columnists on a wide range of issues. Learn more about his books in our bookstore.

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  1. Evelyn Penn says

    Oh, how your beautifully written tribute touched my heart.

    I come from a family of volunteer fire fighters and rescue squad members. Some of their stories are similar to yours. And to add to this commonality, we were from Company 19 in Lorton, VA. Many times they were called to assist Prince William County back when O.W.L. was the only station in northern part county.

    It is important to remember all who have gone before us to their heavenly home on this Memorial Day. My late husband, one of the volunteers I mentioned, is surely looking down and commending you for your poignant tribute.

    Thank you, and God Bless You.

    • Benjamin Pratt says

      Your gracious words make me a grateful man. Blessings of Hope in this time of Remembrance, Benjamin

  2. Sharon Levy says

    This is the 3rd Memorial Day without my father. He lived to be 100 and his mind was sharp and clear until the end. He was an “old man” of 30 when he was drafted for WWII, and I a baby of 3 mo. He never talked about his experiences, until we took him, along with his great grandson, to the Washington, DC WWII memorial, & he began talking to Max about the places he had been and fought: Europe, No. Africa, the Battle of the Bulge. Walking with his cane he grew tired and we looked for a bench where he could sit. A young woman offered him her place, and asked if he was a WWII Vet. My father nodded yes, and she took his hand and kissed it – saying Thank You. My father was too embarrassed to say anything, and I had tears in my eyes. That memory is a sacred place in my heart.

    • Benjamin Pratt says

      This is a very tender, poignant important story. You hold a very special sacred place in your heart. Benjamin

  3. Jackson Day says

    Ben, your thoughts on memorials evoked a saying of Sister Corita Kent’s long ago, “One by one our old heavens have left us, places in hearts all we have left.” Lovely double entendre, on one level it sounds like you’ve lost almost everything, but at another one realizes the places in hearts are everything. Your memorials are like that. The landscape has been obliterated so only those who know have any idea what once was there, but if you were there at the moment, there is a memorial.

    I’m not sure of the effect on the memorial of seeing all the grass paved over. I do know of the powerful impact when I returned to Vietnam in 2004 of going to the place where our brigade headquarters and air strip were in 1968, walking on a few broken shards of tarmac, and hearing the sound of utter silence broken only by a bell on a cow that a young boy was leading down a path. The peacefulness of the moment did better at honoring those who lived in memories of that spot, than anything else I could think of.

    You might appreciate a poem I wrote when our tour bus stopped at what had once been a special forces camp, several miles on down the road that day.


  4. Benjamin Pratt says

    Your thoughts and your excellent poem are a gift to all of us. Thank you, Benjamin