Finding ways to celebrate a loved one’s memory becomes vital for many after they pass away, as losing a loved one is always a tough event. While flower arrangements and other tributes are typical, there is a specific meaning associated with laying pennies on gravestones, especially for veterans and service members and their families.
A Tradition Worth Keeping
Though its exact roots are unknown, some have speculated that the custom of laying coins on gravestones originated during the Roman Empire. However, according to Snopes, there is insufficient evidence to back up this assertion. However, one thing is certain: people who have a strong bond with military people are aware of the sacrifices they make and are looking for a significant way to remember their lost colleagues.
It became increasingly difficult for people to express their emotions honestly during the Vietnam War. It became customary to place a coin on a soldier’s tomb to signify that someone had paid them a visit without running the danger of awkward talks regarding the political sides of the conflict. The gesture was a straightforward but effective way for people to express respect and unity.
Symbolic Honor Representations
Every penny placed on a gravestone has a special meaning associated with it. Here are few instances:
A penny is a sign that someone has paid their respects and visited the tomb.
Deeper emotional significance can be derived from a nickel, which represents a bond between the individual who left it and the dead soldier from boot camp.
A dime signifies cooperation, even if it was just briefly before splitting up.
The most important coin, the quarter, acts as a monument by informing the bereaved family that the person who left the coin was there during their time of grief.
These coins remind us of the sacrifices made by those who serve in the military and act as tangible representations of respect and tribute, bridging the gap between the past and present.
Past Gravestones
Not all military traditions involve coins, such as placing money on gravestones. Military troops are big fans of challenge coins, which have no monetary worth but are extremely significant. These coins, which stand for oneness, are frequently traded as trophies of friendship and honor.
Throughout history, coins have also had a variety of roles in cultural practices. They have been regarded as representations of good fortune, giving, and even riches. While this isn’t always the case, some people in the past were buried with their riches. For instance, it’s been reported that two dollars and fifty cents were buried with Abraham Lincoln’s eyes covered.
The deeper significance of laying pennies on gravestones is to commemorate and recognize the extraordinary efforts made by those who are serving in the military and their families, even though there may not be a clear relationship between money and this practice. It serves as a reminder to ourselves that their sacrifices are priceless.
The child was born deaf? Leave him at the hospital, I’m not going to raise a child like that!” — said my wife, raising her voice.
— Our boy was born deaf? Leave him at the hospital, I’m not ready to nurture such a child!” — my wife’s voice rang with a fury I had never noticed before.
“— Olga, what are you saying? This is flesh of our flesh,” — I looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
The doctor put his hand on my shoulder: “Congenital deafness, complete. Unfortunately, there’s no chance of recovery.”
In these sounds, which my son would never hear, reality was terrible.
“— You don’t understand, Sasha,” — Olga said.
“This is a sentence for us for life. Special conditions… We’ll just destroy ourselves. When will we live?”
I shifted my gaze to the tiny bundle. A small, wrinkled face, gently pink and peaceful.
“— I’m taking him home,” — I said quietly but firmly. “— What?” “— I said I’m taking the baby. Alone.”
“— Are you out of your mind? You’re working part-time as an electrician! How are you going to raise such a baby?” “— Exactly the same as any other. Day by day.”
In the morning, I found that Olga had abondoned, leaving a note with two lines: “Sorry. I can’t control it.”
Five years of life together were only four words on a torn notebook page.
A week later, I delivered my son to my home.
“— And how are you going to manage alone?” — our neighbor Marina Petrovna called out from behind the fence as I approached the house. “— No idea,” — I answered honestly. “— But there’s no choice.”
The first months transformed into an endless survival race. I learned to alter diapers with one hand while working part-time job.
The village commented: “Poor guy,” “He shouldn’t have let his wife go,” “It’s not a man’s job to suffer from diapers.”
I realized a simple truth: my son didn’t know he was missing anything. To him, the world had always been peaceful. But that didn’t make him imperfect. In his world, there were just unsimilar rules.
Every day, we learned a new language. Seeing my sleeping son in his crib, I often thought: “How can anyone reject their own child just because he’s not like everyone else?”
Fortunately, I had recently received a house from my parents and sold it, so I had enough money for living expenses, and I could only work in my free time when the neighbors could watch the baby.
Thus, we began a new life.
After 5 years, Denis grew into a smart, smiled boy with unruly brown curls.
Our house was full of a language without sounds — a language of images and touches. I mastered the sign language for objects, actions, and feelings. My son also learned.
At night, when Denis fell asleep, I would call the representative of schools to register for study.
“— Alexander, you understand that our school is not equipped to teach a child like yours?” — the principal, Nadezhda Igorevna, said softly but firmly. “— Specialists are needed, special methods…”
“— What if I accompany him to classes? Translate everything the teachers say?”
“— And when will you work?” — she sighed. “— Sasha, understand, he needs a boarding school for the hearing impaired in the city.”
The solution came unpredictedly with the arrival of a new teacher.
Anna Sergeevna transferred to our village school from the city. I met her for the first time in our local store, where she was unsuccessfully trying to explain to Nina Fyodorovna that she was prepare for the local press.
“— We don’t have any newspapers,” — I intervened. “— But there’s Zinaida Petrovna. She delivers the mail and also collects and expands all the gossip. A walking newspaper, you could say.”
Anna laughed said:
“— Thanks for the tip,” — she extended her hand. “— I’m Anna, the new elementary school teacher.”
“— My son says you have a beautiful smile,” — I translated.
“— You understand sign language?” — she quickly questioned.
“— Yes,” — Denis responded with gestures. “— Dad taught me.”
To my surprise, Denis already understand a lot — he had learned to read some words by lip-reading and had taught himself the basics of math.
“— And an incredible attention to detail. He can’t hear, but he notices what others miss.”
One evening, when Denis was already in the middle of the tenth dream, we sat on the veranda.
“— You know,” — Anna said quietly, “— I’ve never met a father like you.”
“— What kind of father?”
“— A real one. The kind who doesn’t take the easy path.”
Six months later, their marriage came true.
No fanfare, no noise, just the closest ones. Denis carried the pillow with the rings, beaming with pride over the task entrusted to him.
And then, six months later, a little miracle occured in our life.
Anna brought back from a trip to the city an experimental hearing aid she got through old connections.
“— It won’t improve full hearing,” — she concerned, “— but it may help distinguish very loud sounds.”
We installed the device, not expecting much. Anna picked up a bell and rang it right next to Denis’s ear.
My son’s face transformed — his eyes widened, his lips parted in amazement.
“— I felt something! What was that?”
And over time, Denis called Anna “Mom” for the first time.
“— Tell me about my real mom,” — Denis’s gestures were confident.
I knew this question was undeniable. But it still caught me off guard.
“— Why now?” — my hands moved slower than usual.
“— I want to know everything that’s left in the past before moving forward,” — Denis smiled.
“I’ve been offered a job,” — Denis smiled. “— At an IT company. Remote development. They liked my contest project.”
Despite deafness, he developed an amazing ability to see patterns in code that others missed.
“— Congratulations, son!” — I hugged him. “
“— A new stage is coming,”
“— I want to settle everything that’s left in the past before moving forward.”
When the doctors shared her about your deafness, she broke down.
She was scared she wouldn’t deal with, scared of the life that awaited us.
“— She wanted to leave me at the hospital?” — Denis said.
“— Yes,” — I admitted. “— She said she couldn’t nurture a special child.”
“— Did you ever tell her about me? Did you try to find her?”
“— No,” — I mutted. “— She left for good. I heard she got married in the city, had more kids. I didn’t seek out a meeting. I thought — if she wants, she’ll find me.”
“— Do you regret it?” — His gaze was piercing. “— Staying with me alone?”
I smiled:
“— Not a single day, son. Not a single minute.”
“— What’s this serious conversation about?” — her hands fluttered in the air, creating words.
“— The past,” — Denis answered, then turned to me. “— I forgive her, Dad. But I don’t want to meet her. My real mom is here,” — he threw a warm glance at Anna.
“— He’s grown into an amazing person,” — she said, resting her head on my shoulder.
“— Thanks to you,” — I kissed her on the temple.
“— No,” — she shook her head. “— Thanks to your decision.”
So we sat together under the evening sky — not a perfect family, but a true one. She left because she couldn’t deal with my health. And we stayed. And became a family.
Leave a Reply