The Silence Between the Fireworks: A Memorial Day Reflection
- Rich Washburn

- May 26
- 2 min read


Some holidays are loud on purpose—July Fourth has its firecrackers, New Year's Eve has champagne corks, and even Thanksgiving comes with the hum of family banter and football games in the background. But Memorial Day? It’s different. It’s the quiet one. The reflective one. The one that asks more from us than just an out-of-office reply and a plate of barbecue.
Today isn't about celebrating freedom with fanfare—it’s about honoring the cost of that freedom. It's about the empty chairs at dinner tables, the medals tucked into drawers, the folded flags resting in shadowboxes, and the stories left unfinished.
I’ve spent most of my professional life solving complex problems—cybersecurity breaches, AI implementation challenges, digital infrastructure puzzles. But Memorial Day reminds me that not all systems can be secured, not all battles are virtual, and not every loss is recoverable. Some sacrifices happen far from fiber optic cables and digital footprints. They happen in dust and heat, in silence and shadow. And they deserve more than a passing glance on a three-day weekend.
When we talk about service members who gave their lives, we often think in terms of duty and bravery—and rightfully so. But I also think about potential. About the technologies they might have created, the families they might have grown, the communities they might have changed. It’s a staggering reminder that freedom isn’t just protected—it’s inherited. We live in the echo of their choices.
So how do we honor that?
We remember. Intentionally. Not as a line item on the calendar, but as a posture of gratitude.
We live better. We show up—for each other, for our values, for our communities.

And we protect what they gave us. Not just with policies and defense budgets, but with curiosity, with education, with progress. Every time we use tech to connect people instead of divide them, every time we teach someone how to navigate the digital age with confidence and integrity—we’re extending the legacy of those who laid down their lives for something bigger than themselves.
This Memorial Day, I’m not thinking about cookouts or the unofficial start of summer. I’m thinking about the quiet. The space between the fireworks. The silence filled with names and stories and futures that never got their turn.
And I’m grateful. Deeply.
Let’s live lives worthy of their sacrifice.




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