Mother was recalling with us today what a big day Memorial Day was for them in their hometown. It was the opportunity to see family and friends from far away as everyone met at the cemetery to decorate the graves of loved ones. (Did you know it used to be called “Decoration Day”? I didn’t).I didn’t make it out to my father’s gravesite, as I had hoped, but to my delight, the daylily (pictured above) that Mother snuck by and dropped on my back patio yesterday afternoon had one big, single beautiful yellow bloom on it this morning. It couldn’t have been more timely or reminiscent of Daddy – so instead of me placing the flowers, one was bestowed on me. Memorial Day is more than honoring those who died, it's remembering how they lived. And my daddy lived in the garden. I didn’t manage to go to him, but he came to me regardless, thanks to his loving, flower-bearing messenger.
When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.
~Frederick Buechner
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