Memorial Day Means More as I Age

As I reviewed old posts, I realized I haven’t written much about Memorial Day. That’s because it was never a big occasion in my family growing up. We were new transplants to Richland, Washington, and didn’t have old relatives buried in the local cemetery. My grandparents were also the first generation in the family to live in their towns—my maternal grandparents in Klamath Falls, Oregon, then in Pacific Grove, California, and my paternal grandparents in Seattle, then in Vancouver, Washington. My mother’s father came from Dallas, Oregon, and his father lived until his death in 1964, but we rarely visited my great-grandfather, and never to see the family graves there.

So for me, Memorial Day was important primarily as the beginning of summer, when school ended and days were long and carefree.

I’ve mentioned that things were different in my husband’s family. As the fifth generation in his family (maybe on both sides of the family) born in Saline County, Missouri, the Hupps had strong ties in the Marshall, Missouri, community. His parents regularly decorated graves in the local cemetery.

And over the years, there have been more graves added. I’ve been to several family funerals in Marshall—those of my husband’s grandfather, aunt, father, and just a few weeks ago, a much-loved brother-in-law.

I remember my father telling me in his last few years that all his friends were dying. And my mother-in-law has said the same. I’m not quite at that point in life yet, but I am finding that I attend more funerals than baptisms, even though many baptisms in my parish are conducted during Mass for parishioners’ children (including from families I don’t even know), and I only go to funerals when someone I know well loses a loved one.

So Memorial Day has taken on a greater significance for me—it has become a chance to remember the people I have lost. I know the day began as a time to remember those who died while in active military service, starting after the Civil War. But many people, myself included, now view it as a time for family and friends to gather to mourn all those they have lost, not just those lost in battle.

As we age, the beginning of summer becomes less important, and mourning the loss of those we loved becomes our greater need.

My parents’ grave marker

This year, my brother and his wife went through Richland, Washington, where our parents’ ashes have been inurned. My brother sent my sister and me a picture of the flowers he added to their marker. That means more to me than the summer that has finally arrived after a far-too-long winter this year.

What does Memorial Day mean to you?