Why Memorial Day is So Sacred to Me
There should be a million reasons why I love Memorial Day weekend. Pretty much every party I’ve ever done over that holiday weekend has been a smashing success for all involved. That’s tons of hard work but I believe the spirit of my grandfather also helps them miraculously come together so perfectly.
My grandpa was a war hero and Memorial Day is always a day I take to reflect on our relationship. When I was in elementary school I remember him spending time with my sister and me. Taking us to Denny’s and letting us order whatever we want (which was a luxury when we were growing up) or palming me $20 bIlls to say goodbye. I was ten years old and this was the eighties. That would be like getting a $100 bill today. As the years went by and my sister and I got older we would spend more time with him at his house where he always had a tumbler of scotch swirling and a lit cigarette in the old school ashtray on the little table by his brown leather swivel chair. We listened to his stories and jokes and played with his orange tabby cat that only came around once in awhile.
He passed away when I was in the Navy stationed In the United Kingdom. I flew home to be at his funeral In Washington state, where it was comforting to see so many of his comrades in the Veteran’s of Foreign Wars there as well as my mother and sister. After leaving for the Navy at 19, I wasn’t very close with my family anymore.
They presented full military honors with a gun salute and flag draped over his coffin. It was weird to me that the honor guard presented me with the flag after they ceremoniously folded it and not my mother, his daughter. I was in my dress uniform so it must have fit the protocol. It was the first time I cried. Everything leading up to this moment I was actually happy for him to pass on so peacefully in his sleep after a full and amazing life. Now it was real. He was gone.
After the service we had his remains cremated and once again I donned my dress blues to travel to Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia to bury him. Flying space available wherever I could, there were a few flights I had to go commercial. The Seattle to San Diego flight was the most disheartening as TSA confiscated the gun salute shells from me that I was carrying in my jacket. They saw through the x-ray that I was hand-carrying my grandfather’s ashes to be honorably inturned but still said no. It was the second time I cried.
After four flights I had arrived in Washington DC. A shipmate from a former command was stationed in Virginia at the time and that was one of the biggest blessings. I’m not sure I could do what I did alone like I had planned. He traveled with me to Arlington and held my hand while we met with the Rabbi. When it was time we were taken by golf cart to the vaults. He brought us inside the white marble aisle and a groundsman pushed a step ladder over to me. As the Rabbi delivered the Kaddish I slowly pushed my grandpa’s box inside the opening. With tears I said goodbye to the physical remains where he will be memorialized forever.
For five solid years I hosted a huge outdoor party for Memorial Day. With so many variables out of my control like the weather, return on investment or crowd control, fights, etc. I always spent some time that morning thinking about my grandpa, asking for his help for a successful event. Remembering traveling across the United States in my dress uniform with him, and laying him to rest with honors, I am certain that’s what turned torrential downpours into clear skies for my parties.
