Memorial Day gives reason to pause and remember dead

The Boston Herald

For most of my early life, I never thought of Memorial Day in terms of remembering the dead. Memorial Day was, in my untroubled youth, simply the celebrated beginning of summer: time to polish white shoes, iron the seersucker suit (there was always a seersucker suit), dig out last year's shorts and sandals, stock up on suntan lotion and get ready to soak in three months of sun-filled days and moonlit nights. When I was even younger, Memorial Day meant that the amusement park at Nantasket Beach and the drive-in at Neponset were finally open. But what you see depends upon where you're standing and what you're looking at.

When I was a child, I was looking ahead at summer, looking forward, not looking back. When I was a child, I had nothing to look back at. And so all the flags on all the graves were just flags on graves, pretty decorations, but little more. I saw cars pulling into cemeteries but we never visited a grave. I didn't know anyone in a grave. Now it's different. I make a joke of it, all the dead people in my Rolodex and my phone books. But I keep them there. I don't erase them or throw them away or cross off their phone numbers because when I'm flipping through looking for someone else, I come across their names and I remember.

Memorial Day is all about remembering. After the Civil War, Southerners, to show that their dead were remembered, decorated the fallen soldiers' graves with flowers. But they didn't just decorate the graves of the Confederates. They remembered the Union soldiers killed in battle, as well. Southern widows put flowers on all the graves, Confederate and Union alike. The graciousness of this gesture touched many, and word spread. Decoration Day was made a holiday, which evolved into Memorial Day. Now this holiday honors all dead.

A younger friend stopped by Wednesday and said that she had been to five funerals in the past two weeks. "I can't believe how many of my friend's parents have died," she said. People die and are buried and in our culture, that's it. Afraid to upset the living, we don't talk about the dead. We talk around them. We say things like, "There's a reason for everything," or "God doesn't close a door without opening a window," or "It's time to move on." We essentially erase the dead from our vocabulary.

Except for today. Today and tomorrow we have permission to stand at a grave and shed some tears, to come home with red eyes and admit, "You know, I miss him and it doesn't get easier. It gets harder. The missing never goes away." Yes, Memorial Day is the unofficial beginning of summer, and yes, it's time to polish the white shoes and get out the suntan lotion. But it is also time, an excuse, to publicly remember people you generally have to remember and honor in silence.

And so on this Memorial Day I want to remember a few people I think about often:

Mrs. Hubbard, who worked at the Canton Public Library many years ago, a lady who knew what everyone was reading and what everyone would like.

Charles Heger, who used to sign his letters, "Love Chuck and Lola" (Lola was his cat).

Ray Redican, whose letters and friendship I continue to miss.

Sr. Grace, my teacher, and Ann Bokosky, my friend.

I want to remember Lacey Packer, Maura Howard, Kristen Hatch, Todd Slocum and Christopher Naughton, all people I never met, all young, all killed by drunken drivers.

I want to remember Mr. and Mrs. Jablonski, Mac and Rita, Trudy; my sister-in-law, Janet; my uncles, Jimmy and Buddy; my grandmothers, Big and Little Nana; and Ned White, who would be in his 40s now.

I want to remember Amy Sahlin, just a child when she died, and my father-in-law Bob, who died a long time ago, and my mother-in-law, Peg, and my Aunt Lorraine.

And, of course, I want to remember my mother. I want to remember the Memorial Day I graduated from high school. She polished my white shoes that day, and ironed my satin robe and the seersucker suit under it. Then she sat in a sweltering high school auditorium, smiling and mouthing the words to "Climb Every Mountain," along with our class. I want to remember how she looked that day, all flushed and happy, and how proud she was. She waved when I got my diploma and with the diploma, I waved back.

The beach is, indeed, a great place to be on Memorial Day. But any place is OK, when you can bring along the memories of the people you love. T