Memorial Day

It started with my mother's father, a man I never knew. We scrubbed his grave every Memorial Day weekend.

I remember the bucket of sudsy water, the brush sloughing grime and moss from his headstone. The puttering of my mom and her mother as they cut the flowers and placed them in the buried vase.

And now there are so many other graves to clean - ten in as many years. Some we get around to, and some we do not, but it always feels good to do this little thing.

Some soap and cheerful blooms. An hour or two at most.

Week in and week out, a lifetime of love - that's what they gave us. And now we visit them on this day, to clear their names of debris, to keep them company.

To make them real to a generation beyond.

Alongside us, my children do this little thing now, too. And together, we all remember how amazing a close family can be.