"Memorial Day"

In Memory ....

Another Memorial Day is upon us.  (The 24th I've trudged up this hill -- my dad's 1989 grave is nearby.) 

Another reminder of those who have gone before us .... those who have made sacrifices that not only molded and shaped their own lives, but ours as well.

Each of the cemeteries I drive by or stop at with flowers of my own to place on graves of loved ones is a sea of flags, flowers, and families gathered.  It's a beautiful sight of honor, of respect, of love, and even of loss.  Loss itself, while painful, is a privilege for it means we had something to lose in the first place.

And sometimes the gift we were given is so monumental, that the hole of loss in their absence is staggering, excruciating, and encompasses much of the life we must press forward in, regardless of our fatigue or our strength.

Yet, loss will be a part of every life ... timely or untimely.  And each of those losses deserves our honor, our respect, and our love.  Lives are lost to war, to accident, to disease, to choice.  Lives are lost to life, ... for on this earth as all are born, all will die and return to our God who gave these lives as a precious opportunity, but finite experience.  And, all, regardless of how they lived or died are welcomed into the infinite portion of existence with the open arms of the One who will trade our corruption for his incorruption and our mortality for his immortality.

And while we still dwell here on a beautiful earth (although small in comparison to what awaits us), we are susceptible, even required (if we love) to the loneliness and grief we feel for a parent, a sibling, a child .... gone before we were 'ready to let go', before we could say goodbye, before and in spite of our capability to 'live without them.'  It is the great human experience to love and be loved.  Therefore, it is also the great human experience to grieve and mourn with those who mourn.

In honor ...

And, in gratitude for the privilege that is mine in my grief.  For I grieve over goodly, loving parents; a kindly, caring brother; and an angelic, inspiring daughter who claims to love me more than I love her.  I honor a rich heritage of family who impacted my story while they lived here and continue to from beyond their graves.  I "drink from wells I did not dig" in profound and constant supply.  I live free on the shoulders of those who did not.  I make choices at the hands of those who had no choice.  And, I worship God (while I still can) openly, as a result of those who could only worship Him silently in their hearts.

Each life is a part of our own.  And, each life is worth our remembering, honoring, and experiencing the profound, painful, privileged emotion of grief.

In love ...