Memorial Day and I go back a long way. Back to when it was known as Decoration Day – the day when you went out to decorate the graves of loved ones. Which is what my family used to do on this day, paying a call of my sister Margaret and great-grandparents Bridget and Matthew Trainor at St. Joseph’s Cemetery in Leicester, Massachusetts, and on my grandfather Charles Rogers at St. Joseph’s Cemetery in Barre, Massachusetts. (St. Joseph being the patron saint of a happy death, there are a ton of Catholic cemeteries named after him.)
None of those loved ones had anything to do with those who died while serving the country in the military, but we remembered them anyway.
These days, I have a lot more dead loved ones, and none of them were killed in action, either. The closest I get to that is seeing the grave of my second cousin John, who is buried near my parents in St. Joseph’s in Leicester, which is the permanent home to quite a few of the extended family on my paternal grandmother’s side. (Even though my grandfather Rogers is buried in Barre, my grandmother – who outlived her husband by 55 years – wanted to spend eternity with her sons (both of whom she outlived), her daughter, her parents, a few of her siblings, and a whole bunch of nieces, nephews, cousins, et al. And not in the godforsaken backwater which is Barre, Massachusetts. I’m guessing I’m somehow related to about 20% of the folks buried in the Leicester St. Joseph’s cemetery.)
John didn’t die in Vietnam, but he died of a heroin overdose shortly after he returned. Post hoc ergo propter hoc? Probably.
I didn’t know John especially well, but he was around. His mother was my father’s first cousin. They lived in our parish.
Anyway, when my cousin Barbara and I bring our geraniums or, better yet, sunpatiens to decorate the graves next week, we’ll see John’s headstone there amid the other family graves.
John gets a flag, as do my father and my uncle, both of who served in World War II (my father for a far longer period than my uncle, who was older and called up late in the war – so late that they had run out of uniforms and guns…)
I’m not sure what I’ll be doing today, but I’ll likely head over to the Boston Common to help pick up the flags that a veterans group sets out every year to honor the tens of thousands of Massachusetts residents who were killed in action in a war, dating back to the Revolution. Quite a stirring sight.
Anyway, unlike 45% of Americans, at least I know that today is a holiday to commemorate our war dead. I don’t actually find that figure all that shocking. There are so many things that Americans are ignorant about, awareness of the purpose of Memorial Day is the least of it.
The shock is the ignorance of the current president, who seems totally unaware of how our government works – or should work. And, I’m guessing, hasn’t a clue about why we observe Memorial Day.
And the shock is that, as I write this post, Trump is supposedly contemplating pardoning a number of war criminals, servicemen who include a couple of men involved in premeditated murder. (Both awaiting trial.)
Shocking, but apparently Trump’s fanbase believe that those accused or convicted of heinous acts are actually the victims of prosecutorial overreach and political correctness. Sigh…
But today’s a holiday, a holiday to commemorate those who lost their lives in our wars, wars that are good, bad or indifferent, but ours nonetheless. So I’ll chose to think about the meaning of the day – both the official meaning, and the unofficial meaning: the beginning of summer. And ignore whatever tweets are emanating from the White House today.
Wishing all friends of Pink Slip an enjoyable day, however you chose to celebrate it.
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Here’s last year’s Memorial Day edition.
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