Decoration Day memories: A Resurrection Sunday Repost

When I was a child, my family called Memorial Day, "Decoration Day", which was the original moniker of this day of remembrance.  Many of them still do.

Growing up with a family which hailed from rural Kentucky, we would spend the entire day at the cemetery.  My parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and various other friends, family, and neighbors  would converge, after church, on the local cemetery.

There, on a hillside, nestled in a copse of elm and sycamore trees, lay our forefathers. Those who had fallen in battle, and those who had merely fallen.

We would diligently, child and adult alike, clear the graves of any weeds, mow the grass with push mowers,  and lovingly place flowers on the graves of our respective family members.  Tears would flow unchecked, remembering the lost loved ones. Family stories would unfold, tales of heroism, bravery, and loss.

There was laughter too, by the arm load. Stories of silly antics by one departed relative or another would be told, for the umpteeth time,  usually by an uncle who had a  hidden flask of moonshine in his back pocket, and many of those good ole boys had big back pockets, if memory serves.

When the chore of clearing and cleaning the graves was complete, we would eat, right there in the middle of the grave yard.

Picnic lunches were packed in ice before church, to be brought out by the women folk to be  devoured by all. Fried chicken, potato salad, fried frog legs, ham, cole slaw, cakes, pies, and fresh lemonade and iced tea by the gallon would be laid out on quilts in the grass.

After the meal, someone would pull out a guitar, a banjo, and maybe a mandolin, and play sweet southern hymns to be sang by anyone and everyone.

Finally, as the day waned into evening, a cousin, uncle or someone would play "Taps" on a bugle, and everyone would head for home, usually exhausted, and melancholy. I remember those three hour drives home to be very quiet, without even the radio for company. It was a time for reflection of the day, the memories and to openly miss those who had went before us.

Does anyone go to the cemetery anymore?

My family still does, although not to the extent of my childhood memories. They place flowers on the graves of lost loved ones, get in the car and go.  I haven't participated since my Mother died, in 1979. I send money for flowers to my sister in KY., who places them for me. I just can't bear to see the stone with my dear Mommy's name on it. It may seem disrespectful to some, but it is my cross to bear.    

*Since I originally published this in May of 2007, I have since lost my Dad, who now lies beside Mommy, and my sweet sister, LoRena, who lies in a cemetery in West Virginia, with her husband's family. I am planning on visiting her grave, if nothing else this year, because she detested those damn people she is interred beside. SO, I will stand, or sit beside her grave, and imagine her bitching about where her husband  placed her, and remind her, that at least she can see her beloved Mall behind her. And then I'll bawl for the four hour trip home.