May 21, 2009
“Let us, then, at the time appointed gather around their sacred remains and garland the passionless mounds above them with the choicest flowers of spring-time ." -- General Order No. 11, Washington, D.C. May 5, 1868, issued by General John A. Logan, Commander-in-Chief, Grand Army of the Republic.
Normally, I don't "hang out" in cemeteries.
However, it is Memorial Day week, and we do such things.
I anticipated the upcoming and obligatory cemetery visit to be rather dreary, so I planned on hurrying through it.
Spend more time at Dad's grave than the others, of course, but allow enough time to make sure that his headstone is clean and there are no weeds growing around it, I reminded myself.
Just hurry and get out of there, I thought.
Make a quick "drive-by" tour of the graves of Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Ida, Aunt Aggie, Uncle Dick, cousin Al, cousin Robert, Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Phil and their baby daughter Kathleen, and on and on. There would be several graves to visit.
The truck was abundantly filled with bedding plants (I like to use fresh flowers), a garden tool to chop weeds if needed, and two jugs of water. Quick work, I decided.
To avoid the frenzy of the Memorial Day weekend, I decided to go early in the week to the cemetery in northwest Missouri where my mother's family is buried. When I arrived at Maple Grove, I noted that I was alone there, not another "living soul" in sight. Usually when one goes to the cemetery on Memorial Day, it is a busy place with the lanes filled with cars, and the grounds dotted with folks laying wreaths and decorating headstones with flowers and American flags.
Not this time; I was early.
Besides being alone, there was another problem that surfaced. I could not find the location of the graves by myself without help from Mom or Grandma. Mom is not able, and Grandma is gone.
For my siblings and me when we were growing up, the precise location of headstones was on a need-to-know basis. We never thought we would ever use a cemetery map; we had Mom and Grandma. Besides our primary job back then was to carry empty coffee cans covered with aluminum foil and filled with iris, peonies and spirea to the designated graves.
Without doubt, Memorial Day appeared to be more meaningful for my mother and grandmother than it was for us kids. They cut only the best fresh flowers from our yard and arranged them beautifully in cans or jars. Their day was solemn yet joyous, honoring the fallen and departed; ours was celebratory, honoring the official entrance of the long-awaited summer.
But, back to my recent visit to the cemetery. The wind was blowing gently, the temperature pleasant, the sky sunny; the day perfect.
And thus as I hunted graves for nearly two hours, I quickly forgot about my "search-and-drop-off flowers and get-out-of-there quick" mission.
Surprisingly, I was having a good time.
My Dad's grave was easy to find as I have been there many times. My grandparents' headstone, on the other hand, was more difficult to locate, and some cousins' graves and aunts' impossible. So impossible in fact that I had to call my cousin Judy to help me find Aunt Ida's grave. Turns out it is easy if one has a map.
Eventually, I finished the task that was no longer a task.
I took pictures with my iPhone as I wandered through the rows of graves. I took notes and made a map so the next generation would fare better than ours.
It was too important not to do so, and whether it came from the wind or the heavens, I understood the message I heard that day.
