Veterans in Westchester and throughout the nation will have their much-deserved moment Sunday, as the county honors their service on Veterans' Day.
Patch has a roundup of events throughout the county honoring our bravest. If we missed one, add details in our comment section.
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- What: Greenburgh's Veterans Day Ceremony
- When: Sunday, Nov. 11 @ 1:00 p.m.
- Where: Desanti Plaza, across from the Hartsdale Train Station
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- What: The annual Veterans' Day parade in Harrison; check out Patch's video for a closer look.
- When: Sunday, Nov. 11 @ 10 a.m.
- Where: Begins on Underhill Ave. and concludes with a ceremony in West Harrison
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- What: A ceremony and historic tour spotlighting local soldiers, followed by a jazz performance.
- When: Saturday, Nov. 10 @ 11 a.m.
- Where: 897 S Columbus Ave, Mount Vernon
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- What: A ceremony at the Soldier's and Sailor's Monument in the White Plains Rural Cemetery, featuring honoree Ricardo Sheppard—retired, U.S. Marine Corps—and a speech by Colonel J.J. Dill, an Iraq and Afghanistan veteran.
- When: Sunday, Nov. 11 @ 10:30 a.m.
- Where: 167 North Broadway, White Plains
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- What: The United Veterans Memorial and Patriotic Association will join together to commemorate all who served our county.
- When: Sunday, Nov. 11 @ 10:30 a.m.
- Where: Memorial Plaza, New Rochelle
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- What: Vets and active service members are offered a complimentary glass of wine of beer with dinner Sunday at 42 The Restaurant in White Plains.
- When: Sunday, Nov. 11; all day
- Where: 1 Renaissance Square, White Plains
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- What: The Brewster VFW will visit Veterans Park for a special ceremony and light lunch.
- When: Sunday, Nov. 11 @ 10:30 a.m.
- Where: Veterans Park (Electrazone Field), Railroad Ave. and Moringthorpe Ave., Brewster
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- What: An interactive military vehicle display will allow history buffs to climb behind the wheels and handles of jeeps, humvees and motorcycles
- When: Sunday, Nov. 11; 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.
- Where: 40 Gleneida Ave, Carmel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGJ9s22klE4&feature=player_embedded
Mothers don't pray like the rest of us. I learned that long ago. Have a brother at war and you'll learn a lot of things about your mother. Sure, she seems to be the same lady. But she's not. The house works, the other kids go about growing up and the mundane and ordinary seem to be the substance of the days. But not the nights. Night's a different story. No meals or laundry or drop-offs. No daily routines scheduled. No searches for missing gloves or cleats or books. No school project solving or whispers to grow up on. No friend analysis or girlfriend observations. Or rah-rahs from the stands. Nope. Nights belong to the son on the other side of the world. Far from a phone. Far from home. And her nights are almost silent. Or so she thinks. Because she thinks the house is wrapped in sleep, so her prayer-murmurs seem safe from others' ears. But she's tricked by the silence of the dark because her whispers might as well be cathedral bells in the still of the night. It's was an odd whisper, too. Almost breathy and punctuated by "wiss" after "wiss". That's the give away that it's a prayer. That whisper told you so. Not every word wass clear and catchable. But it wasn't hard to swallow the gist. And then you get the the give-away cue.
Then you know she's half way around the world. Oh, you could hear her voice … somewhat. And you could spy the night light through the crack of the door. But she wasn't really really there. She was half-a-world away. I'd heard that silent racket every night. For years. Ever since my Marine-brother had moved to the west coast, then to Hawaii … each a step to Vietnam. A fourteen thousand leap from Gramercy Place. All the brothers were sort of awed by the sheer distance. But my Mother never seemed troubled by the distance at all. She was troubled by the powerlessness. There was nothing in her past to show her how to intervene, how to help her son, how to soothe the moment or how to war with her fear. There wasn't any parental trick in her sack for this type of stuff. So she did what she knew how to do best. She prayed. "Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus."
"Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus," And there you stood. Alone. In the dark. In the hallway that had become a sacristy. Nothing to see and almost … almost … nothing to hear. You don't dare barge in on that moment. Too sacred. Too intimate. But it all seemed so volumed-up because the silence was so loud. And you knew the next prayer-line. And the one word in that prayer-line that has to be a rugged whisper for that lady. The one word and the one phrase she didn't want to say, but has no choice. Not if it's to be a successful plea.
"Now and at the hour of our death. Amen." That's the phrase that that locked your legs and froze your heart. Then a pause. Until it all began again. Over and over and over. Part prayer. Part mantra. Part plea. But all pain. And for years that was the night noise at huge house on Gramercy Place. Packed with five other sons and a princess daughter. I know others heard it as well. They had to hear it. It happened every night. There were too many other sons there. But not a one has ever mentioned it … even almost fifty years later. It was a moment we were all privy to. And not a part of. And not offended at all. Because we all understood, in our own way, that this had nothing to do with us. Or war. Or miles. This had to do with a mother and a son. And a mother willing her son home. To her. Alive. So, once again. "Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum …" Aidan