I love Memorial Day. There's something uniquely special about connecting with those you've loved who've died. I love how beautiful the cemetaries are with flowers and flags and wind catchers. I love seeing families together, remembering together.
This Memorial Day weekend we drove to Utah to visit the graves on Saturday and make it home to visit the graves in Idaho on Monday. You could say we cemetary-hopped (4, I think). It's still a novelty to visit the graves of my family on Memorial Day. As I've said in years previous, I never grew up near my "kin." We didn't have graves to visit.
This is one experience I'm so grateful to offer my children. They love searching the cemetary for veterans of wars passed. They love hearing stories about the different relatives buried there. They love filling the watering can to water our mums before we leave. They even love wiping the bird-poop off of the headstones. (I'm sure my kin in heaven are grateful someone's watching out for them.)
Two very special family members' graves that caused me to pause, especially this weekend, were Ben's brother, Todd, who was hit by a car as a child, and Toby, our nephew who lived a few short hours. I lingered a little longer at their graves. It's something about being a child amidst so many old-timers. I mean that respectfully. I like to think that they're watching over the little ones until resurrection day. It's a sweet and comforting thought.
I am grateful that there is still a day to reverence, remember, honor, and recognize those who've gone before us. The world is losing it's sense of honor and respect, yet, Memorial Day fills me and keeps my hope alive that these qualities still exist.