 I once read that an America without soldiers would be like God without angels. So on this Memorial Day, the day set aside to remember those who paid the ultimate price in service to our nation, I'd like to share the story of one of America's angels. Corporal Bryant J. Luxmore, B.J. to all who loved him, was a small town son of Illinois. He was quiet and reserved, with a wicked sense of humor for those that were lucky enough to know him. His family meant everything to him, his mother Brenda, father Leonard, his brother and lifelong best friend Brock. Corporal Luxmore loved deeply, and that was never more true than when he met and married the love of his life, Jamie, a small town Illinois girl herself. They had a son, Lane, a perfect little boy who would grow to love the St. Louis Cardinals as much as his father did. From when he was very young, Corporal Luxmore had talked about the army. His mom encouraged him to go to college, and he did, but to put it simply, he had a heart for service. Shortly after graduating from Illinois College in 2009, Corporal Luxmore enlisted. He and the army were an instant agreement on where an athletic, hard-charging, methodical guy like him, best fit the infantry. As his wife Jamie put it, VJ thought if he was going to serve, he wanted to be at the tip of the spear. Corporal Luxmore was assigned to the second brigade combat team third infantry division, Spartans. He, Jamie, and Lane settled into Fort Stewart, Georgia in the fall of 2011. The following spring he deployed to Afghanistan. It was a painful goodbye. Shortly after arriving in country, he began keeping a journal. The very first entry he wrote would be pression. If you don't live for something, you will die for nothing. Corporal Luxmore's unit was tasked with patrolling in and around the district of Hangeway, the birthplace of the Taliban, and a stronghold of anti-American fighters. On June 10th, just two months into his first deployment, Corporal Luxmore's unit came under enemy small arms fire. He was killed in action. I well know the grief on the ground among soldiers on days like this, the ramp ceremony, the color guard, the final pit in your stomach roll call. I also know the heartbreak back home, a young wife meeting a flag draped coffin at the military mortuary in Dover, a mother collapsing to her knees upon hearing the news. A tough guy big brother weeping on his father's shoulder. It was one of the singular honors of my military career to represent the Army at the funeral for Corporal Luxmore in 2012. It was my first trip to these communities that surround Rock Island Arsenal, a place I would be stationed some seven years later. I will never forget the outpouring of love for this young patriot. The high school gym built a capacity. The athletic display cases with trophy after trophy won by a young BJ Luxmore. The miles of highway lined with people waving flags as a funeral procession passed by. The pain in the Luxmore's eyes as I handed them the folded American flag and uttered those timeless words on behalf of a great nation. Here's the thing about Memorial Day. Each of us as American citizens could do our part by slowing down and consciously reflecting on the men and women who have been willing to serve and sacrifice, even to die for us. We can be humbled and grateful and I hope overwhelmed by that kind of selfless valor. But for families like the Luxmores, this day is personal and poignant. They live in a state of remembrance. On this Memorial Day weekend, Brenda and Leonard Luxmore are grieving the recent death of Brenda's father. As he'd lay dying in a hospital bed two weeks ago, suffering from a long and lingering illness, Brenda had whispered that it was okay to let go, to go be the BJ. Jamie has found love again remarrying a few years ago. He is a kind and generous man who the Luxmores have welcomed into their lives like a third son. The couple now have a three year old boy who follows around his big brother the way BJ once followed Brock and laying that little boy who lost his dad before he had fully developed lasting memories of him is now 12 and the spitting image of Corporal Luxmore. He's quiet and reserved to outsiders, but a joy to those who know him. He values family above all else, but perhaps most of all just like his dad, he's most at home on the baseball field. Back in June of 2012, precisely as his dad was heading out on his final patrol, three year old Lane was suiting up for his first T ball game. The coach had handed him his uniform and by absolute chance, Lane got number four. His dad's old high school and college number. Jamie had laughed thinking how much BJ was going to love this story. The very next morning, the Army's casually notification officers knocked on her front door. Corporal Luxmore rests here in this quiet country cemetery aptly named Hopewell, but he lives on in these communities that loved him. The scoreboards on the high school baseball field are named for him. An annual baseball tournament honors him. His family gives scholarships in his name to local student athletes in the high school does a blood drive in his memory every year. What I love most of all is that a proud young man with the last name Luxmore is a standout baseball player in the same community where his dad was. Yeah, and he still wears number four. On this memorial day, I asked something of each of you. Pause to remember Corporal Luxmore and the ones you know and love who gave their last full measure of devotion. Remember our gold star families whose grief is forever etched into the fabric of our nation. Parents and siblings like Brenda and Leonard and Brock, spouses and children like Jamie and Lane and actively remember those of every generation who believe this great nation was worth everything they had to give. I leave you with this thought has been said that soldiers fight not because they hate what is in front of them, but because they so deeply loved that which they have left behind. May we all recognize that we are part of that part of those left behind and may we more deeply treasure the gift of freedom knowing others paid an unthinkable price for