Memorial Day

Dear Family,
 Happy memorial day. 

     This was always such an important day for mother, and it was my favorite holiday for many years.  When I was growing up, I always looked forward to May 30th.  It wasn't made a Monday a three day holiday until the mid 60's.  Danielle was born the day after Memorial Day.  That Memorial day in 1963 was one of the few days my mother missed putting flowers on 20 or more graves. 

    When I was a child and didn't feel responsible for anything, I loved going to Pleasant Grove.  Walking around the cemetery with my parents, we always met family members that we hadn't seen for at least a year.  I followed mother as she went from grave to grave, telling me the history of each person. On each grave she would leave a homemade flower arrangement. Then we went to Aunt Dean's for dinner.  I don't remember the food, although I am sure it was delicious.  I remember the people.  I thought my aunts, uncles and cousins were the most remarkable people in the world.  I loved to listen to them talk. One year as the women were washing the dishes in Aunt Deane's tiny kitchen, someone dropped and broke a small salad plate. I was too young to help, and mother knew I wasn't to be trusted with Aunt Dean's "good china."  Mother, Aunt Margaret, Aunt Dean, Aunt Thelma and my cousin Mary all cried.  The dishes had come from  Germany, made before the 2nd World War and the pattern was not replaceable. I decided that day that I would never own anything that if broken could ruin even a wonderful time together as was our Memorial Day gathering.

      I am sure part of the wonder of those days was the fact that school was out.  The long summer months all lay ahead.  No matter how great each summer was, it never measured up to that mystical feeling of "anything was possible"  at the beginning of summer.

      Later in my mother's life, going to the cemetery became an ordeal.  Mother worried for weeks about having enough flowers, about forgetting a grave she usually decorated. For years we loaded up the car with flowers, mother still wore her "good clothes," and we went to the cemetery. 

      Aunt Dean died in 1980.  Her death and changing the day to a three day weekend, changed my life.  We still made the trip, but other family members often came to the cemetery on a different day.  We rarely would see anyone we knew. While Aunt Margaret was alive, we would stop and visit with her.  But the Memorial Days of my childhood were gone.

    Today, Milt and I rode out to the Newton and the Clarkston Cemeteries. It was cold and the windy. We placed flowers on some of the graves, all the pots were purchased, none lovingly gathered from our own yard.  We thought about those who have died, and I felt guilty that I didn't make the trip to Pleasant Grove.  Even when take flowers, our actions seem to be meaningless.

    This memorial day, I am grieving for a lost tradition.  I am grieving for a wonderful opportunity to spend time with family that no longer exists.  Once again, the most wonderful thing in the world, is family.  We need to make changes so that we keep the important part of this holiday alive.  The remembering of those who have gone on before, and the celebration of those who are still here.

    Love each of you with all my heart.

      -Dianne