The Fort Smith National Cemetery is busy on this Christmas eve.

The steel gray sky is a fitting backdrop for baren trees, standing proudly – as if to say, “we’re winter battle-weary but come spring we’ll be in our best dress uniforms again.”

Visitors are milling about, tending to the cold, white tablets bearing the names of loved ones lost. Some died in battle, others of old age – more than just a few of those carrying survivor’s remorse 6 feet deep, right there.

The scene looks almost black and white – shades of gray. But the poinsettas littered along the rolling hills are stunning – almost like the red coat on the little girl in Schindler’s List.

For a moment, the crimson flowers create an illusion – that of a blood-soaked battlefield.

This Christmas let us remember men and women in harm’s way, their families with an empty chair, and those enduring a first Christmas without their heroes from wars gone by.