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.
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