Each year my family would meet my uncle, my aunt and my cousins and we would make preparations for the upcoming Memorial Day. We went to two cemeteries: the Catholic and the Protestant. My grandparents were of differing religions and they were not allowed to be buried together. I was horrified when the nuns told me that my grandfather was in Limbo. How could a good honest man be in Limbo? Even as a young child, I understood the injustice in this situation.
My uncle orchestrated the arrangement primarily of red geraniums and small blue flowers. The cousins and I would find the water spigot hidden in the shrubbery and try not too slosh three quarters of the water in the heavy metal pail. As the adults would chat and reminisce, the kids would make their way to the rotunda surrounded by hundreds of red tulips. We would chase and yell-our voices and feet echoing within the chamber.
On Memorial Day we would attend the local parade parking within walking distance to the Protestant cemetery. Following the parade, we would walk what seemed to be the entire cemetery searching for ancestors that my mother often had trouble explaining the relations. Still I was fascinated with my connections to the past.
So today Memorial Day, was a recollection of important family traditions and honoring those who have gone before me.
