Chesty Puller and Eleanor Duncan

I grew up with the tradition of visiting graves on Memorial Day with my Grandma Duncan. The entourage that usually accompanied my Grandma were my sister, my mom, an aunt or two and trunk load of flowers cut from my Grandma's backyard It was an all day trip to graves in Ft. Riley, Leonardville, Riley and Linn. I hated Memorial Day because when all my friends were at the opening weekend of the city pool or at the lake - I was sweating in the back seat listening to AM radio cracking and popping while my grandma drove down a gravel road with the windows down. Neither my dad nor my grandma thought it necessary to purchase a car with air conditioning until much later in their life.....couldn't break off the extra bucks for something so fancy....what would the relatives think?!?!?

I can clearly remember flags on each veteran's grave, flowers, old men and women meandering in and around the graves.......I couldn't even wrap my brain around why all of these people were just hanging about. My philosophy then was get in and get out....drop the flowers, pull a few weeds, exchange a few pleasantries with others also there. This is where my philosophy severely collided with my Grandma Duncan - Eleanor. Eleanor's goal was to provide a thorough family history of the particular individual, what part they played for our country and family and how and when they died. This soliloquy played out like a Shakespearean play at every tombstone and cemetery. At some point, I would see her mouth moving and yet I never heard a word she uttered. My thoughts were far away diving and jumping in and out of the pool and the smell of baby oil lightly scenting the air. MISSY! Did you hear what I said? Huh? And without the slightest - I said "NO." Again it was one of those moments that you realize that your outside voice was saying exactly what your inside voice was suppose to keep quiet. And that was the only time that I can ever recall telling Grandma that I wasn't listening. As it was followed by a swift swat to my rear from my mom and the scariest stink eye that a grandma could give you. AND THEN...........the story started over with the same enthusiasm and clarity as if the the events had only unfolded yesterday. It was here and then that I determined that I would be cremated so not to have to inflict the same drudgery to my children and their children on each and every Memorial Day.

On this Memorial Day over 500 miles away from those cemeteries, I find myself taking down my flag before sunset and pausing to give a silent thanks to those who have gone before us in the name of God and Country. And to those who served proudly and are still with us, those presently serving, and to those of you in the future who will serve. It seems so trite to say thank-you, but it is offered from the heart. And although I still want to be cremated, I would give anything to spend one more Memorial Day with my Grandma Duncan visiting graves, dropping off flowers and listening with the finest tuned ear to every noun, verb and adjective that came out of her mouth. Grandma, thank-you and I will see you in July. It is me who leaves little stones on your tombstone. And "Good night Chesty, wherever you are!!!"