Memories

 The first time that I was aware that Memorial Day was a thing and not just a long weekend with family get togethers and sporting events was when I was about 9.  My family was visiting my Grandma S in Quincy, Illinois.  We lived in Rockford, Illinois at the time.  Grandma picked peonies from her yard which were the blooming flowers in that season. She wrapped a small glass jar in foil.  I can only suppose that was to decorate it.  Then we took her to the cemetery where Grandpa was buried.  She carefully placed the peony jar on his grave.  She also visited the nearby graves of her parents. That is why I can always find the graves in that cemetery.  It is muscle memory.  I have been called by people visiting that cemetery while I was hundreds of miles away to give directions to the graves.

Now my grandpa and my great grandparents were not veterans.  The military significance of the holiday was something that I came to understand later.  I lived on military bases for part of my life.  I have been to Punchbowl in Hawaii and Arlington in Virginia and Jefferson Barracks here in Missouri. The significance of serving one's country means something to me.

But, the people who came before me, the people who I loved, or who I only heard about, but whose lives made me exist, have meaning to me.  I think once a year to visit graves and decorate them is a noble enterprise.  I have a fondness for cemeteries.  I like the quiet.  I like the many remembrances on the many graves.  I like the idea of remembering the dead.  I like the idea of being remembered.  Once a year, to honor our dead is not too much.  And to me it is not any sadder than so many things in life.

I haven't been able to get up to Quincy to decorate the graves in several years.  Since my mom moved away from Quincy, there hasn't been reason to go there.  But, sometime soon, I hope, I intend to go up and visit my people.  I don't have any peonies, but I think they won't care.