I now have established my own Memorial Day ritual. I make a trip around our home, inside and out, following a path my husband used to take each spring. This year I saw a lightbulb outside the garage that needed changing. I noticed a new set of cracks in the driveway pavement. I found black paint flaking off the lamp post out front. and inside, and the rim around the kitchen sink needed new caulking. I was about to call the handyman when I realized I could do every one of those jobs myself. So I did.
A week later, feeling pretty proud of myself, I dragged the sun umbrella and chair pillows out to our ancient wrought iron patio set, which is something else he did each year. Then I finally sat down to enjoy the beauty and smell of the two lilac bushes my husband planted for my pleasure fifty years ago. I also noticed that his two peony bushes, one white and one red, were lush with fat buds. They should be perfect blooms in time to go to the cemetery on Memorial Day weekend.
And that’s what Memorial Day is supposed to be, isn’t it? Keeping fond memories of loved ones alive.