Lest We Forget

I love Memorial Day. I love cemeteries, not because I'm morbid (although some of you might think that because of my love of Poe and the list of serial killer books I've read - only two I promise -but that's beside the point). I've visited cemeteries throughout this country and other countries, and they never fail to impress me. Whether I'm standing near where William Blake may or may not be buried, walking through a war cemetery in France (the picture is from a really beautiful WWI cemetery I visited while I was there last year), contemplating where the headless horseman is really buried or paying tribute to my own family members, I feel a special spirit that has nothing to do with Halloween and ghost stories.
I love walking around and thinking about the stories. How did the parents whose children all died before the age of three survive all of that grief? How did the wife whose husband died 40 years before she did cope with the loneliness? What was the story behind the woman who wanted a three dimensional bird on top of her headstone?
I think there's something that is solidly good about having a day set aside to honor our dead. I love the bunches of mums in the grocery stores, and I love being the one who sets the flowers on the graves of my grandparents and great-grandparents. It's a time for telling stories about life and death, about Grandpa Bill deciding he wanted to die and not eating but then shuffling through the drawer for the m&ms Grandma always put in there for him.
When I was little we used to go down to Monroe to put flowers on my mom's grandparents' graves, and I remember my grandpa taking his shovel around and digging up the cemetery grass to plant a flower. There was something incredibly symbolic to me about life and death so close to each other (commence singing "The Circle of Life" now).
I get a sense of reverence on Memorial Day that I don't get very often (reverence is more than just quietly sitting, friends) and I think it's nice to have that day to think about life from beginning to end. This year we took my nephews to the cemetery, and although they were more interested in the cool headstones (we had to tear Zach and Cole away from Violet's stone bird - they hugged and kissed it first, which we think Violet probably liked) I think they're on their way to appreciating the day and the places involved. It seems like a good part of the hearts of the children turning to the fathers, and I'm glad the tradition in continuing.