I get kind of sentimental on Memorial Day. My mother and I have a tradition of going to the cemetery and putting flowers on the graves of relatives who have passed. For my grandparents, we also dig back the grass so that their markers aren’t overrun by nature.
We’ve done this since we moved back to Ohio, and as far as I know it, we are the only ones in our family who go to visit every year. Even if my mother worked on Memorial Day, we would go to the cemetery the day before or after. My mother said they used to do it when she was a child, and she wanted to continue the tradition.
In recent years, we’ve noticed more and more families pick this tradition back up. The cemetery used to be a ghost town (pun intended), when we would go. A few people here and there, but mainly just the silent souls.
And I used to hate it, you heard me?! HATED IT. I absolutely dreaded Memorial Day. No I do not want to spend any of my free, usually sunny and warm day, at the cemetery, Mom. Why does it have to ALWAYS be us?
The simple answer, because it’s tradition. It’s paying respect and remembering our family members. Unfortunately, no shade to my alive and well family, if we didn’t, no one else will do it consistently. She went as a child, so when she moved back to Ohio, of course she picked it back up.
As a child, I didn’t understand it. Also for years the sites we had to visit were my grandparents’, one of whom I never met and one I didn’t remember. Through the years, we had to add on more stops. More people who played a part in my life. Then I understood. It wasn’t a nuisance. It wasn’t creepy to go to the cemetery. It’s a connection to who I am and where I came from.
These visits prompt conversations and stories of memories that might not be tapped into otherwise. I actually appreciate the tradition.
My kids probably won’t understand it either. They will probably hate it for years. But I know from experience that it’s worth it. Those who I visit shaped me into being who I am. I want my children to know them, even though they have passed on. Yes I can always just tell them, but it’s different going to where they eternally rest.
Being there brings out memories stored in the back of my mind I haven’t thought about in years. Bringing my kids up with this tradition will help them better understand where I came from, which helps them understand who they are and where they came from as well.
What are some traditions you’ve passed on to your children?
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