This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2017, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

"True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost."

Arthur Ashe

Memorial Day is this weekend and before it was a three-day weekend to mark the kick-off to summer, it was "Decoration Day," a solemn day to remember the hundreds of thousands who died during the civil war.

It is still the day set aside to remember those who died in military service. Visit your local cemetery and you will see some sort of display honoring those who died while serving. If you're like me, it really brings home the cost of freedom.

I have stood in cemeteries in France, where row upon endless row of white crosses mark the final resting spot of thousands of Americans who died serving others in the cause of liberty. One of those crosses is for my father's uncle who served in the U.S. Army and fell in France. Every cross was someone's son, brother, uncle, father or friend.

My grandfather worked as a civilian in the shipyards in Honolulu in December 1941. My grandmother remembers vividly hiding under the bed with her 9-day-old baby (my dad) after watching planes fly low overhead and seeing the Japanese sun clearly visible on the undersides. Later, she watched the smoke rise from the harbor, not knowing if her husband was alive or dead. After three days, he finally staggered home, having worked around the clock in the harbor. They lost many friends that day.

My father was career Air Force, serving 26 years. (Yes, I am a proud "brat.") As part of his service, he spent a year in Vietnam in the late 60's. He returned home to a nation who jeered his service. It was so bad that when he flew home on a commercial flight, he was put at the very back of the plane and not fed. The flight attendants told him they "ran out" of food. He said that at least he wasn't spit upon like many of his friends were.

I was 4 years old when he was deployed and I remember his friend, Jim Cross, who came and played with us. He gave my baby brother — born two months after my Dad left — a big stuffed bear we named "Crosspatch." Jim was not married and after completing one tour in Vietnam, he volunteered for a second tour of duty. He never came home. I've stood at the Vietnam Memorial Wall and touched his name because I still remember.

Perhaps that's the key — remembering. Felix Frankfurter said, "We have enjoyed so much freedom for so long that we are perhaps in danger of forgetting how much blood it cost to establish the Bill of Rights."

All over this nation — and this state — are families who will never, ever forget.

One of those families is the Olsen family, my former neighbors. Their son Nigel died in Helmond Province, Afghanistan seven years ago after stepping on an improvised explosive device. His mother, Kim, posted on Facebook this week, "In time of peace, sons bury their fathers; in time of war, fathers bury their sons." Nigel was honored by the Utah Legislature the year I was in office and it was one of the hardest, most tender days of the session for me.

So this weekend, amid the barbecuing, backyard ball games and a search for warmer climes, please take the time to remember those who have served to keep this country free. I know I will.

Holly Richardson is grateful and humbled by those who gave all.