Memorial Day Musings
My dad and my grandfather were both veterans, but neither experienced combat, and much of my age and demographic in the late ’60s was blithely insulated from the horrors occurring half a world away. So Memorial Day in my Norman-Rockwell-esque cocoon wasn’t at all about death and loss and heroism, it was all about small-town ritual.
My high school band marched in a parade down the main street, my grandfather drove a miniature Monza car in a Shriner group, and we all ended up at the town cemetery. My junior and senior years, I played echo taps on my trumpet at the cemetery, but at that solipsistic age it was all about getting the notes right. Everyone close to me was alive and well, and Memorial Day mostly meant the end of school and the start of summer, and as soon as I tore that band uniform off, the pool would beckon.
As the years progressed and I began losing people, on my visits home I would head out for a run but go to the cemetery to commune with my relatives interred there. It wasn’t the “I know you’re happy in Heaven with (blank)” kind of thing, it was just the physical proximity, the solitude and the clearing of mental clutter for a while in order to re-experience them sensually - seeing them, hearing their voices, placing them in a familiar context.
Memorial Day for me is remembering them, their admonishments and compliments, breaking their hearts, reconnecting and coming home again.
(Click to enlarge)
This is such a beautiful post. My father did see combat as a medic in the Army during World War II. My older brother got a deferment during the Vietnam war, and my twin brother got a good, safe lottery number. The world is so different these days, and so are the wars. I’m glad we have a Memorial Day to remember all that has transpired.
Yeah.
I love your thoughtful memories and ability to find just the right words to describe them.