Remembering the remembering: Each year at this time I can vividly recall the rituals that were observed in my childhood each year on Memorial Day. As a family we would be off about 9AM to go to the parish cemetery. It seemed that everyone was there including many relatives, neighbors and people whom we saw regularly at Sunday Mass; all were either placing baskets of flowers at the gravestones or tending to those they had recently planted at the graves. Soon the pastor and associate priests would arrive and park in front of the large monument that marked the grave of the first pastor of our church, a priest well known to my great grandparents who were also resting in this consecrated ground. The greetings and conversations would soon cease as everyone would assemble in the cemetery's central road behind the clergy, then the procession would begin and the responses to the rosary would ring out as all walked solemnly and prayerfully through the entire cemetery as the grounds and graves were sprinkled with holy water. There was an “esprit de corps” that is difficult to describe fully, we were all there remembering our deceased loved ones interred in this special place, none of those present had been spared the experience of grief and loss, yet we were together and we were strengthened by the hope that comes from faith. The dead were not forgotten, they were still a part of us as they were lovingly remembered in prayer and their resting places adorned with plants, flowers, and flags for the veterans. . Many who marched in the procession knew they would one day rest in this place as well and some like my grandmother sensed it would be sooner rather than later and seemed unafraid to say so. After this procession at the cemetery we would attend the civic parade of veterans remembering their fallen comrades, which concluded with a collation at the local VFW. Only after these rituals both religious and civic were observed could the holiday atmosphere commence as we concluded the day with a cookout at the home of friends of the family.
One is sometimes left to wonder what Memorial Day means to people today? Do many pray at family plots in cemeteries or plant flowers there or is that thought to be too morbid or worse, meaningless? Do any still witness the Gold Star Mothers chauffeured in large cars in Memorial Day Parades which pause at public monuments to the fallen long enough for them to lay wreaths in what must be a deeply personal and painful remembrance? Ironically, on the day when all should pause for remembrance, are the dead, both soldiers and civilians, now largely forgotten in favor of a three day weekend of rest and recreation which merely seems to mark the opening of the summer season? I am deeply grateful to my parents who made me a part of these observances during childhood for they shaped who I am today. I am very aware from whence and whom I come and where I am going for I can locate and visit the resting places of three generations who have preceded me in that parish cemetery and I not only know that I too will rest there someday but also where. The cemetery doesn’t sadden or frighten me even if I am walking its roads alone now at this time of year to remember in prayer those gone before me because that deeply felt sense of solidarity in faith instilled in me from early childhood still accompanies me.
Indeed I learned on Memorial Days long ago and in
Fr. Edward Healey
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