Memorial Day

Though I do recall my great-grandmother repeatedly opening a little box of family members’ hero’s medals, in our family Memorial Day has never been radically celebrated.  On a scale of 1 to 10, cemeteries are about a 5—somewhere between “They freak me out, and “I adore them.”  I never have done the cemetery thing (except for that crazy year after losing Grandma).

On the last Monday in May, I do remember friends and relatives that have now gone on—and I thank God for soldiers and veterans [Thank you]).  And I remember others:  My Savior.  My parents.  My sisters.

Memorials are good.  We need markers; we need a little nudge to pry open our droopy eyelids.  We walk around supposing we’re wide awake, but sometimes we’re on auto pilot, fueled by information overload.

It is all too easy to forget: there are precious souls that impacted us yesterday, unique individuals that grace us today, and potential friends just around the corner.  What better time to stop the insanity—take a deep breath—and remember.

For our family, each Memorial Day is different—but it usually involves friends, food, and/or fishing—maybe a minor yard project in-between.  This year is no exception; today, in fact, we hit all of the above.  It was lovely.

So, if you ever see me at one of these barbecues, and you notice I’m a little quiet, no worries:  I’m probably thinking about Grandma.  Or Dad.  Or maybe even …you.

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