Walking the Graves

For the past 5-6 years, I've made it a point to go beyond myself each Memorial Day. Setting aside time to watch the PBS Memorial Day Concert - upon each viewing blubbering like a baby - I find a patriotic spirit that wells up in my heart. With the American spirit's echoing pulse in my ears, I've made my way to a local Veteran's Cemetery to walk the graves each Memorial Day. Awaking around 6:45a, I don a baseball cap (which only happens on this day and a few Farmer's Market treks) and brew my beverage of choice. Map in hand, I venture out to walk the graves.

This year, I made it to the cemetery in Ownings Mills. Lined with small waving flags, I drove the fields of reminders. Grave sites sorted according to the time of death, there were markers for service men and women from WWI, WWII, Korea, and Veitnam. There were wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, loved ones buried there. I walked the graves. I prayed. I pray for those who served, thanking God for their service. I pray for the spouses, that these days alone won't seem so long. I pray for their kids and loved ones to know the service by the soldier wasn't in vain nor was their own sacrifice to support their loved one out on the field.

This year, I saw a man standing for about 20 minutes over a gravestone. As I approached, I asked about his loved one. His wife had died about a year ago. There was her grave. And he was there. Remembering.


Every year as I leave the cemeteries, I vow that if I see someone who has served I'll stop and say thank you. I'm getting better, but I forget way too often. And worse than forgetting, I think they don't want to hear my meager words of gratitude. But, I remember the look on this man's face. As he was mourning his wife, I said thank you for his service. It moves people to realize that their sacrifice isn't in forgotten. That they are recognized for their giving -- that their work isn't lost on the rest of us. It really is the least I can do for those who have truly given the most.