Monday, May 26, 2014

Flags, Flowers and Families









Flags, Flowers and Families



Today marks my 67th Memorial Day, my 45th as an American veteran. I'm at work as I type these words, putting in some overtime to help out the piggy bank at home and to allow another man to have the day off. It's a quiet day here so I can afford to spend a little time to reflect on the holiday.

It was a beautiful drive to work today with its much-appreciated blue skies and warm temperatures. A perfect day, actually, for a ball game, a barbecue or to sit under a freshly-budded oak and watch the puffball cumulus clouds drift by. We dreamed about such a day back in January. And February. And March. We dreamed about it throughout our seemingly endless winter past and urged it to please come soon.

And now it's here and boy it is something to behold!

But Memorial Day here in the States is more than just a day off (for most folks) and a party on the lawn with ribs and Cole slaw and some cold lagers. It's primarily a day to remember the sacrifices of our military. To reflect on those who have guaranteed us the right to have those cookouts and lazy days of early summer. It is especially designated to those men who have paid the ultimate price.

It's a day to reflect on those sacrifices and remember our honored dead.

It has also become a day in which to remember all the people who have passed before us and to also honor them.

And so it was that during the past weekend it fell upon my wife and I to visit the graves of our families and to place a decoration upon them, to stand a few minutes and reflect on those family members who have passed.

It was my family's turn first on Saturday. We traveled up the road north from our hometown for a few miles until we arrived at the cemetery where my father is laid to rest. We drove down the winding lane, our eyes pleased with the sight of the hundreds and hundreds of American flags flying, both on the veteran's graves and also larger ones lining the lanes. We finished our drive at an area close to where the grave was, exited the car, got the decoration out of the trunk and proceeded to the grave. We remembered that dad's spot was very near a tree, so we walked up to the tree that “looked” to be in the correct spot. The grave there was not that of my father. I looked around, eyed another tree, one that wasn't quite where I remembered it should be, and walked over to it. Again I struck out with the wrong name on that marker. I gazed around again. There were only those two trees that were even close to the spot. I scratched my head and started looking at more graves, knowing I couldn't be too far from where it just had to be. Please note that this cemetery is one that did not allow above-the-ground markers. All the plots there were designated with flush markers. So the search was a bit more prolonged than it might have been otherwise. Finally I spotted it. There it was, the bronze marker with his name and all the other information on it. And right behind it was... a doggone stump! It was cut flush with the ground and was difficult to see unless you were very close to it. There was that “tree” I was looking for!

We stood a while after placing the red, white and blue arrangement with the American flag in the bronze urn that came with the marker, looking at his name and remembering dad. It's always sad being there, remembering him as a vibrant man, playing his golf, playing cards, enjoying his extended family and generally just enjoying life.

But the world is as it is and he is now gone.

We also thought a bit about my younger brother Gary. He passed away at the very young age of 42 back in the early 90's. He lived in California for most of his adult life after his service with the U.S. Navy during the Vietnam War. His last request to my brother, who was with him at the end, was to be cremated and to have his ashes scattered in a particular beautiful lake in northern California where he liked to fish and vacation. I talked to my other brother Chuck about this request after the service was held for him and made a request of my own. I asked him if I could have a small portion of Gary's ashes sent back to Ohio to me so I could make sure a small piece of him would always be here with us. I remember when that small jar came in the mail, I took half of the contents and scattered it over our dad's grave and then the rest over our mom's. So my wife and I paid tribute to two family members and two veterans then, my dad and my brother, one represented by a bronze plaque and the other only in our hearts.

The next stop was another cemetery in our hometown where my mother and grandmother were interred. We decorated mom's grave with a pretty arrangement and did some more remembering. Then it was over to gram's and another few minutes of recalling her life. One more stop before leaving this graveyard and that was at the stone of a good friend of mine. He and I shared a hobby over the years – metal detecting – and many of my readers may remember stories of our quests for buried treasure. He passed on a number of years ago and is interred near one of the entrances to the cemetery in an area reserved for veterans. Gregg's stone is identical with its mates all around it. It simply states his name, his rank in the military and his birth and death dates. I was happy to see flowers planted at his stone and guessed his sister had been busy there recently. I said a silent hello to my old friend and slowly walked back to the car.

Sunday it was my better half's turn, so we headed over to her old hometown to visit her family's plots. As we arrived there we could see that they had just concluded with their Memorial Day commemoration ceremony and the attendees and all their cars were beginning to leave. We slowly drove around the cemetery for a few minutes to give the crowd a bit of time to thin out and to also try to recall exactly where her family was buried. It seemed we were both totally hopeless that weekend finding graves! Before long, though, we again were back near where the commemoration ceremony had taken place and found the grave sites. Of course everything about the area where the graves were looked “familiar” once we were there! Anyhow, we placed another wreath there and chatted a few minutes about her family. Her grandfather had bought six plots in that particular cemetery a long, long time ago – for him, his wife, his two daughters (my wife's aunts), his son (my wife's father), and for my wife. That was their entire family at that time. All the aforementioned are interred there now with the obvious exclusion of my wife. They're all in a row with two of the graves sporting American flags to denote they were veterans – her dad and grandfather.

I recalled when her grandfather passed and his graveside service at that very spot. He was very active with the veteran's groups late in life, particularly the American Legion and the Forty-et-eight, a body commemorating WWI veterans of which he was one. At that ceremony there was a military firing squad and a rifle salute which I can even now hear echoing in my mind. My wife still flinches at gunshots and shakily attributes it to that ceremony. She really liked her grandfather and his passing was a tough go for her for a while.

So many memories.

And so yet another Memorial Day weekend passes, with parades and speeches, with specials on television that bring a lump to your throat and with the spectacle of snapping American flags flying from one end of town to the other. But mostly it passes with little flashes of memory. Of when dad did this or when my brothers did that, when Gram made that great meal or when mom dried your tears after you skinned your knee. Of that time when your mother-in-law was so supportive and when your wife's aunts showed up at that campground. And memories of Christmases and Easters and other family times, of friends both still here and not here, of days past.

And of other Memorial Days.

It is a weekend of memorials, both public and private, to remember the sacrifices of the military and to remember our families and friends who are no longer here.

Remembering is a good thing.

I'm glad we have Memorial Day to remind us.