Last night I declared to my family that I wanted to spend today doing something fun. All suggestions got a thumbs down and I gave up. So this morning, I woke up and decided to visit my parents' grave at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery. I generally avoid the cemetery on Memorial Day for obvious reasons. I usually feel guilty as heck because I really should pay my respects to my father who served in the Army during World War II. Every year, I think about going and just don't. This year, I decided I would visit.
The traffic on Telegraph Road was horrible, of course. I felt bad for the local residents who are just trying to get their weekend errands completed. I guess they just get used to it after a time. Big Jack came with me on this visit and I'm glad he did. I always get confused about the location of my parents' grave and, as usual, became hysterical when I couldn't find their section. He calmly took over and requested help. The grounds keepers nearby were kind enough to help me find my parents and even gave us a flag to place on their grave.
The Boy Scouts were everywhere, but waiting for some signal from a grown up to start placing the flags. They seemed bored and wondered what the hold up was all about. I was kind of wondering myself.
A visit to my parents' grave is always emotional. As I stood there, crying a bit, I told my parents about what was going on in my life. I told them I knew they were watching over me and I knew they would be proud of me.
Memorial Day is a time to remember those who have fallen defending our country and our freedoms. While most people see it as a three-day weekend with barbecues and opening of swimming pools, we should all take a moment to remember the true meaning of the holiday.
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