Oftentimes I have posted about Memorial Day and included a photo that I took at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, or at Arlington National Cemetery or other National Cemeteries that I have visited. Not this year. I am not reminded of the cemeteries that draw visitors from around the country and around the world. My heart pauses at gravestones in small cemeteries.

A lot of reminders about life and living can be found in cemeteries, not to mention history. Throughout our nation’s history many have left their homes, loved ones, dreams and hopes to join in the fray of war.

It is not the oft-visited cemeteries that reveal to me the personal side of what has been lost as much as do the cemeteries on red dirt roads; on farm-to-market blacktop roads far from cities’ centers or suburbs; on fenced in properties maintained by people in a community, not by corporations; on farms, ranches and places of dirt where labor has toiled and bodies with related names are buried.  While the grand cemeteries call attention to those we honor on Memorial Day, it is in the less seen, less visited, less known, less remembered places where I get closer to understanding what Memorial Day is truly for. Who it is for. And why.

I am moved when I see old headstones of soldiers who died during the Civil War and find flags from that era poked into the ground near the stone or a small bouquet of flowers laid atop the stone. Generations have passed, and someone far down the family line continues to honor the kin who died in duty.  I am touched when a small name plate on the ground humbly includes the words “Purple Heart.” There are many unspoken stories and Memorial Day is for remembering them.

Over the past ten generations, many have responded to the call to defend the nation; many did not return and we have Memorial Day to honor them. The greatest honor we could offer is to live in peace and freedom.

Peace.