Every Memorial Day we take time out to honor our veterans. I think in the past many of us didn't give much thought to them during the rest of the year, but with social media, the news, and the state of the world today, that's impossible, unless you live under a rock. I am pretty "news free" except for what I catch during the day on the computer, and I still know what's what for the most part. No CNN, Fox News (of course not, even if I had cable), or any other 24/7 streaming news stations for me. It's too much information, spin, and negativity for this gal to chew on. Frankly, my head might explode.
Currently I don't have any members of the military in my family, but have had several in the past. My great-uncles (four in one family), an uncle (who taught me how to march correctly), cousins, and numerous friends. I am thankful for each and every one of them, for the sacrifices they made, and for the families who held things together while they were gone. Luckily they have all returned home, and in one piece, although a few who were in Vietnam were never quite the same.
When I was a child Memorial Sunday was a big deal. We would wear our dress up clothes to church, and after Sunday breakfast we would all pile into the car and head over to St. Francis cemetery so my Grandma Meys, my Dad, and my Uncle Bill could pay their respects to family. I vividly remember the American flags dotting the open field where they are buried. The three of us kids had no clue. Death hadn't touched any of us yet. I do have a few memories of my Grandpa Meys, but I was only three when he died. I didn't understand grief yet, and my siblings had no memory of him. The other graves were people we never knew. To us it was an adventure, prancing along the flowers and flags looking for names we recognized.
My Mom and Grandma Lenihan would go out to Calvary Cemetery to pay their respects to her family, but we didn't have to go, and I didn't. Why we all had to go with Grandma Meys, I don't really know. My Dad wanted us to, or she wanted us to. It was just something we did, and it was important we be there. Grandma Meys was frail and sickly, and I still vividly remember her being all dressed up, helped from the car, and her walking on her son's arms to her husband's grave, where she would stand for a few minutes, and then she would move on to her brother's and parent's headstones. I remember watching her sometimes, but I just didn't understand. I remember my Mom saying once that Grandma Meys mourned Grandpa until the day she died. Again, I didn't get it, but I do now.
I was twelve when my Great Uncle Joe died (Grandma Meys' brother) and then going to the cemetery started to hold a bit more meaning. I also started to realize that my Dad would tend two other headstones in a shady pine section of the cemetery. It's the place where his own Grandpa and Grandma Meys were laid to rest. The place where he and my Mom would eventually be buried.
Going to the cemetery is not on my list of favorite things to do. It doesn't really give me peace, they aren't there. It just brings back upsetting memories. However, I was raised to be respectful, so I do make sure, at least once a year, that all the graves are in good condition, and that the flowers on the Meys headstone are replaced. My sister went and got them this year, so I thought "Fine, you handle it. I don't want to go there anyway.", and I thought that was that. Then she calls on Saturday and says she didn't do it. *Big sigh* So I drove over, put together the flowers, and drove them out to the cemetery. I kid you not, "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd came on the radio while I was driving, and I said aloud, to no one, "Seriously?? I don't need a soundtrack." So I had tears before I even got there.
I put the flowers in their holder, cleaned up the individual headstones a bit, and watched two geese fly by. I always see something when I'm out there, usually it's eagles. I took a pic to show my sister that the flowers indeed did look nice, and headed on outta there. Usually I just go, but I really felt like I needed to go over to the sunny field and pay my respects to the rest of the family. It was like my Grandma was guilting me from above. :) So I racked my brain and lo and behold I parked the car and walked straight to them. Flower baskets and American flags blowing in the cold breeze, and me standing alone among them, so full of memories. I hate going to the cemetery, but I'm glad that I did. I have the gift of memory, (sometimes not a gift) but there are little things that even I forget unless I come across something familiar.
Currently I don't have any members of the military in my family, but have had several in the past. My great-uncles (four in one family), an uncle (who taught me how to march correctly), cousins, and numerous friends. I am thankful for each and every one of them, for the sacrifices they made, and for the families who held things together while they were gone. Luckily they have all returned home, and in one piece, although a few who were in Vietnam were never quite the same.
When I was a child Memorial Sunday was a big deal. We would wear our dress up clothes to church, and after Sunday breakfast we would all pile into the car and head over to St. Francis cemetery so my Grandma Meys, my Dad, and my Uncle Bill could pay their respects to family. I vividly remember the American flags dotting the open field where they are buried. The three of us kids had no clue. Death hadn't touched any of us yet. I do have a few memories of my Grandpa Meys, but I was only three when he died. I didn't understand grief yet, and my siblings had no memory of him. The other graves were people we never knew. To us it was an adventure, prancing along the flowers and flags looking for names we recognized.
My Mom and Grandma Lenihan would go out to Calvary Cemetery to pay their respects to her family, but we didn't have to go, and I didn't. Why we all had to go with Grandma Meys, I don't really know. My Dad wanted us to, or she wanted us to. It was just something we did, and it was important we be there. Grandma Meys was frail and sickly, and I still vividly remember her being all dressed up, helped from the car, and her walking on her son's arms to her husband's grave, where she would stand for a few minutes, and then she would move on to her brother's and parent's headstones. I remember watching her sometimes, but I just didn't understand. I remember my Mom saying once that Grandma Meys mourned Grandpa until the day she died. Again, I didn't get it, but I do now.
I was twelve when my Great Uncle Joe died (Grandma Meys' brother) and then going to the cemetery started to hold a bit more meaning. I also started to realize that my Dad would tend two other headstones in a shady pine section of the cemetery. It's the place where his own Grandpa and Grandma Meys were laid to rest. The place where he and my Mom would eventually be buried.
Going to the cemetery is not on my list of favorite things to do. It doesn't really give me peace, they aren't there. It just brings back upsetting memories. However, I was raised to be respectful, so I do make sure, at least once a year, that all the graves are in good condition, and that the flowers on the Meys headstone are replaced. My sister went and got them this year, so I thought "Fine, you handle it. I don't want to go there anyway.", and I thought that was that. Then she calls on Saturday and says she didn't do it. *Big sigh* So I drove over, put together the flowers, and drove them out to the cemetery. I kid you not, "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd came on the radio while I was driving, and I said aloud, to no one, "Seriously?? I don't need a soundtrack." So I had tears before I even got there.
I put the flowers in their holder, cleaned up the individual headstones a bit, and watched two geese fly by. I always see something when I'm out there, usually it's eagles. I took a pic to show my sister that the flowers indeed did look nice, and headed on outta there. Usually I just go, but I really felt like I needed to go over to the sunny field and pay my respects to the rest of the family. It was like my Grandma was guilting me from above. :) So I racked my brain and lo and behold I parked the car and walked straight to them. Flower baskets and American flags blowing in the cold breeze, and me standing alone among them, so full of memories. I hate going to the cemetery, but I'm glad that I did. I have the gift of memory, (sometimes not a gift) but there are little things that even I forget unless I come across something familiar.
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