A Memorial Day Reminder

We roamed quietly through the cemetary tonight just before the sun set. I visited the graves of a sister I never knew, a grandpa I’d known well, and a classmate whose life had ended too soon.  Ironically, it was an apt conclusion to a holiday weekend filled with LIFE. 

We had wrapped up our month of May with a spirit of celebration- picnics and bonfires, backyard campouts and rowdy games of catpure the flag; visits with grandparents, great-grandparents, cousins, and friends. But as I drove home from Grandma’s house with pajama-clad kids tucked snugly in the van, I was drawn to the regal rows of American flags in the place that signifies life’s end. We parked our van near an old oak tree and veered off the paved path. I watched as Joshua paused reverently in front of the red, white, and blue and placed a petite three-year-old hand across his heart.  I spied Hannah tenderly touching each silky flower that  spilled from the grassy plots. Then I studied Lizzy, squatting in front of the gravestone of a great-grandfather she doesn’t remember and running her thin finger along the letters etched in the smooth face of the dark tombstone. 


When we climbed back into the van, the kids were unusually quiet. Maggie lay her curly head against her carseat and closed her eyes with a sigh. Soon her snores sang a tired lullaby.  Hannah leaned her head wearily against the window while Lizzy gazed silently beyond the opposite pane .

“Mom,” Hannah said as she rubbed her eyes, “I feel like I ‘m going to cry.”


“Why, honey?”


“I think that is the saddest place I’ve ever been. It makes me think about dying…”

The knot in my own stomach made me nod my head in understanding, and I prayed for the appropriate words with which to respond.

Suddenly, Lizzy turned from the window, “Not me,” she chimed, “It makes me think about LIVING.” 


Hannah turned her head to look her big sister in the eye.


Lizzy took one glance at her sister’s doubtful expression and continued with fervor, “I mean, Hannah, if you’re visiting those rocks and you can read the names and touch the flowers and smell the dirt, it means you’re still ALIVE! And that’s something to be HAPPY ABOUT FOR SURE!” 

I grinned as we veered down the road that leads to home and thanked God for the timely MEMORIAL DAY REMINDER. 

Today’s Treasure:  To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens: A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance. . .   –Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

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