Memorial Day 2011

Nearly every Memorial Day Weekend of my earthly existence has held the same tradition. It involved visiting the graves of my grandparents and many of my greats in Ogden, Utah. As kids we would drive the mile and a half over to 27th street to pick up Grandma Edna (my only living grandparent from the age of 4 until I was 22). We would gather roses from her fabulous bushes and place them in mason jars of water along with lilacs and any other flowers we might have. Mom would tell us stories and show us pictures of our dearly departed. I wasn't always the best sport during those times but now they hold nothing but fond memories for me. After the graves we would go to Farr's icecream for a cone.

After Grandma died, the tradition continued, but with even more meaning because now we visited her site as well. And once I was married and with children, we would ask Mom and Dad to take us to continue the tradition. It went from something that as a child I only mildly tolerated, to being kind of special, to being something that I truly loved and longed to take part in.

This Memorial Day, I knew, would be different. We are now a million miles away from Ogden--clear down in Texas. Temperatures were in the 90s and humid. The kids had to attend school to make up for the snow days we had in January. Chancho was off and his mother, Debbie, is visiting us, so we went out to lunch and I bought a cowboy hat at Cavenders. I thought, "Well this is not the Memorial Day of the past, but its nice, I guess."

After school Deedle asked when we were going to visit the graves. I sadly told her there were no graves to be visited.

"There is one," Chancho said, to my surprise. "My great-grandfather Guy Taylor (same name as C's own father) is buried in Fort Worth."

WHAT???

We all hopped in the van and ventured off to find Mount Olivet Cemetery, area of "Garden of Gethsemane", plot 845. It took a little searching but we found it pretty quickly.

The cemetery was beautiful. Very well maintained with tons of trees all over. Very religious statues and carvings, including this of the Virgin Mary.

And Guy Taylor Cox's grave is located just in front of this .... what is it...? this "thing" of the Last Supper.

I'm not sure why the cemeteries are so well attended in Utah on this weekend. It is hard to get in and out and through the other cars parked on the narrow streets. Is it because of the emphasis that the LDS church and their people place on family history and the connections we feel to our dead? Is it the history of the state and the fact that many of those who settled had posterity who stayed around? I'm not sure, but it didn't seem to be the case here.

However, there was a very nice Memorial service taking place to honor the veterans. It was perfect. We visited the site of my children's Great-Great-Grandfather. We brought along a black and white photo and just as we were trying to stick some flowers into the grass, Chancho's dad called (to ask Debbie where she keeps the placemats) so we had him tell us a few things he remembered about his grandfather. I wondered if this man could possibly have imagined this little troupe of ours would be visiting him all these years later. I like to think it pleased him.

The Memorial service was just beginning after we spent some time at the grave, so we walked over to see what it was about. We saw flags, a replica of the Liberty Bell, a piper, lots of men in uniform, and guns, so we decided to listen in. It turned out to be very patriotic and we stayed for the whole service.

After leaving the cemetery we found a Braum's and had icecream. I felt a real sense of peace in my heart. We were continuing a tradition that was very much the same as I'd had in my family for all my years. But it was different. We were making connections with roots in a way that had not previously been made. I have felt very "up-rooted" this past 10 months and this was a wonderful feeling. I had another small whispering in my soul that said, "You are supposed to be here."