What is it about blogs? There are things that I wouldn't tell in confession that I send out to anyone who will read.
I have a secret Memorial Day ritual. I buy a bunch of flowers and separate it into four smaller bunches. Then I drive to a local cemetery.
Okay, first some backstory. My mother had two sons before she had me. Both died in infancy. One is buried in a cemetery in Seligman, Arizona. The location of the grave has been lost. The second is buried in a cemetery in a ghost town called Las Palomas in New Mexico. No family live anywhere nearby. So, neither grave ever gets visited.
Back to Memorial Day. I drive to a local cemetery. Then, I walk around until I find a grave with no flowers on it, one that looks a little seedy.I place one bunch of flowers on the grave and say, "This is for you," Then I place the second bunch and say, "This is for James Walk Shook."
After that, I drive to a second cemetery, 'cause the boys were buried in different places. I do the same thing, except as I place the final bunch of flowers, I say, "This is for Walter Canby Shook."
I don't try to match up dates or anything (I'm eccentric, not crazy), nor do I believe that any one of the four dead people is around to appreciate what I've done. But for some reason, I feel a small, sad, satisfaction when I am done.