Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing

shil0h:

It was hot today. My aunt suggested I roll the car window down and ask the Marine in full uniform if he wanted a ride; we were heading to section 60. He was surprised and said that was where he was heading, too, and got into our car. They chatted back and forth and I sat quietly in the passenger seat. We parked under some trees and my aunt gave the boy a hug and her condolences. He was visiting his captain. That was the first time I almost cried. She hugged a complete stranger and created such a strong bond with someone she’d only known for about three minutes.
She and I stood and began separating the flowers. I made sure each bouquet had equal red and white carnations. I didn’t want one soldier to get more to the other. I finished counting and we each held small, but beautiful, bouquets of red and white flowers for soldiers we had never met. I never even knew of them before this morning and I was carrying flowers to one of them. We walked past rows and rows of white stones. Some had roses on top; some had rocks; all had American flags. As we walked the graves became more decorated and surrounded by people.
They were recent.
We found our row and began walking. I watched the numbers on the backs of the stones get smaller as we got closer. Part of me wished that the couple sitting in chairs were paying their respects to a soldier next to ours. What do I say to them if they’re sitting at the grave we’re visiting? These graves became campsites for the day. Campsites for grieving family members sitting in chairs, on the grass, standing- all spending Memorial Day with the people they lost. I’m used to spending Memorial Day with my family and friends while we laugh and eat good food. These people sat around tombstones. Tombstones of sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, siblings, etc., that they would never see again. They sat with them all day long.
We got to our two graves, and despite that tiny hope inside of me, the couple was the parents of one of our two soldiers. My aunt was amazing. She hugged them, told them how she knew their son, said she was sorry for their loss, and talked to them about everything. I can’t even really remember exactly what was said. I stood a couple feet away and fidgeted with the umbrella in my hands. I looked at the sky, at the row of graves, at my feet. I looked anywhere except for the faces of the soldier’s parents. That was their baby. Their son. I was bringing flowers to their dead son.
We placed the flowers on his grave among all of the other things left before we came. A grape soda, a snack, pictures of his wife and son, flowers, a wreath, stones, and countless other decorations. They sat in chairs with umbrellas and a cooler on their son’s grave. Just the two of them. They came all the way from Tennessee to sit with him and to meet the people he knew. To talk to people who knew their son and to hear about him- hear anything.
The second soldier we came to visit was also a friend of my cousin’s. He was buried next to the first soldier just one day later. Side by side. My aunt placed the flowers on his grave and I was sad that he was alone today. Nobody was camping out on his grave. Nobody brought him a drink or a snack. There were some flowers and a pinwheel, and our flowers. I was happy we brought him some- it made it a little brighter.
The mom of the first soldier brought us to another grave, about twenty stones down, of another soldier from the same division as the two we visited and my cousin. All around me were young men and women, not much older than me, who had died. There were graves without grass or tombstones- people who had been buried this month. Fresh graves.
I looked around at the families sitting and thinking. The families taking pictures with gravestones in place of loved ones. The dirt and hay on top of someone I will never meet. I’m not sure exactly where I’m going with this post, but I know I need to remember this. I need to remember the feelings and emotions I’ve been struggling with all day since.
This was one of the saddest and most moving and humbling experiences I have ever had. I was grateful nobody under those tombstones belonged to my family, but when I think about it- they do. That could have just as easily been my cousin. My dad. My grandfather. My family has been to war and fought next to these men and women.
It could have been us. The people buried there are the ones that didn’t make it, the ones that helped my family stay safe. I will forever be grateful for that and, to me, they are just as much my family as anyone blood related to me. We’re all fighting for the same thing and our families endure the same struggles. These families are the strongest I know.
We walked and saw the grave I have pictured here. I came home and looked him up to see what he was awarded the Medal of Honor for. You can read about it here. I wished I had had flowers left over to put on his grave, too.
I don’t know if this makes sense. I’ll probably wish I had edited it or tried to make it more eloquent in the morning. But for now, I can’t. I have too many feelings and too few words to do that. I hope you all stopped for a couple minutes today and really thought about what Memorial Day means to you and to those we keep in our hearts. Today was a hard day, but today was a good day. I learned a little and grew a lot.
I hope they all rest in peace. &&I hope they liked the flowers.

A day late reblogging, but this is worth reading.

It was hot today. My aunt suggested I roll the car window down and ask the Marine in full uniform if he wanted a ride; we were heading to section 60. He was surprised and said that was where he was heading, too, and got into our car. They chatted back and forth and I sat quietly in the passenger seat. We parked under some trees and my aunt gave the boy a hug and her condolences. He was visiting his captain. That was the first time I almost cried. She hugged a complete stranger and created such a strong bond with someone she’d only known for about three minutes.

She and I stood and began separating the flowers. I made sure each bouquet had equal red and white carnations. I didn’t want one soldier to get more to the other. I finished counting and we each held small, but beautiful, bouquets of red and white flowers for soldiers we had never met. I never even knew of them before this morning and I was carrying flowers to one of them. We walked past rows and rows of white stones. Some had roses on top; some had rocks; all had American flags. As we walked the graves became more decorated and surrounded by people.

They were recent.

We found our row and began walking. I watched the numbers on the backs of the stones get smaller as we got closer. Part of me wished that the couple sitting in chairs were paying their respects to a soldier next to ours. What do I say to them if they’re sitting at the grave we’re visiting? These graves became campsites for the day. Campsites for grieving family members sitting in chairs, on the grass, standing- all spending Memorial Day with the people they lost. I’m used to spending Memorial Day with my family and friends while we laugh and eat good food. These people sat around tombstones. Tombstones of sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, siblings, etc., that they would never see again. They sat with them all day long.

We got to our two graves, and despite that tiny hope inside of me, the couple was the parents of one of our two soldiers. My aunt was amazing. She hugged them, told them how she knew their son, said she was sorry for their loss, and talked to them about everything. I can’t even really remember exactly what was said. I stood a couple feet away and fidgeted with the umbrella in my hands. I looked at the sky, at the row of graves, at my feet. I looked anywhere except for the faces of the soldier’s parents. That was their baby. Their son. I was bringing flowers to their dead son.

We placed the flowers on his grave among all of the other things left before we came. A grape soda, a snack, pictures of his wife and son, flowers, a wreath, stones, and countless other decorations. They sat in chairs with umbrellas and a cooler on their son’s grave. Just the two of them. They came all the way from Tennessee to sit with him and to meet the people he knew. To talk to people who knew their son and to hear about him- hear anything.

The second soldier we came to visit was also a friend of my cousin’s. He was buried next to the first soldier just one day later. Side by side. My aunt placed the flowers on his grave and I was sad that he was alone today. Nobody was camping out on his grave. Nobody brought him a drink or a snack. There were some flowers and a pinwheel, and our flowers. I was happy we brought him some- it made it a little brighter.

The mom of the first soldier brought us to another grave, about twenty stones down, of another soldier from the same division as the two we visited and my cousin. All around me were young men and women, not much older than me, who had died. There were graves without grass or tombstones- people who had been buried this month. Fresh graves.

I looked around at the families sitting and thinking. The families taking pictures with gravestones in place of loved ones. The dirt and hay on top of someone I will never meet. I’m not sure exactly where I’m going with this post, but I know I need to remember this. I need to remember the feelings and emotions I’ve been struggling with all day since.

This was one of the saddest and most moving and humbling experiences I have ever had. I was grateful nobody under those tombstones belonged to my family, but when I think about it- they do. That could have just as easily been my cousin. My dad. My grandfather. My family has been to war and fought next to these men and women.

It could have been us. The people buried there are the ones that didn’t make it, the ones that helped my family stay safe. I will forever be grateful for that and, to me, they are just as much my family as anyone blood related to me. We’re all fighting for the same thing and our families endure the same struggles. These families are the strongest I know.

We walked and saw the grave I have pictured here. I came home and looked him up to see what he was awarded the Medal of Honor for. You can read about it here. I wished I had had flowers left over to put on his grave, too.

I don’t know if this makes sense. I’ll probably wish I had edited it or tried to make it more eloquent in the morning. But for now, I can’t. I have too many feelings and too few words to do that. I hope you all stopped for a couple minutes today and really thought about what Memorial Day means to you and to those we keep in our hearts. Today was a hard day, but today was a good day. I learned a little and grew a lot.

I hope they all rest in peace. &&I hope they liked the flowers.