As Memorial Day approaches, I find myself reflecting not just on what it commemorates nationally, but what it has always meant to me personally. Growing up before the holiday was renamed, I knew it as Decoration Day. It was less about parades and more about peonies.
Every year, my mom, grandparents, my sister, and I would pile into the car with buckets of water, fresh-cut flowers, and coffee cans wrapped in foil—makeshift vases brimming with blooms. Peonies were the flower of choice: lush, fragrant, and fleeting, just like memory itself. We’d visit multiple cemeteries across town, placing our bouquets at the graves of family members, some with headstones, others marked only by the landmarks my grandparents remembered. “Near the large rock by the ginkgo tree,” they’d say, guiding us to our kin.
Each grave received not just flowers, but stories, quiet remembrances shared in the soft May air. I didn’t know it then, but this was my first introduction to ritual, to remembrance, to honoring. These moments shaped me in ways I’m still discovering.
Today, that tradition continues with my sister and me. The cast of characters has changed. Our mother and grandparents are now among those we honor. But the bucket of flowers still comes along, and the act of remembering still carries the same weight and warmth.
One grave we do not visit is that of my late husband, John. He chose a different path – cremation, with his ashes scattered in the places he loved most. I spent an entire year visiting those places, sometimes alone, sometimes with family, scattering bits of him into the landscapes that shaped his life and our love. That year became a pilgrimage of healing. It was quiet, powerful, and deeply personal.
While I find comfort in tending the graves of my family, I also find peace in the knowledge that John is now part of so many places in the world. In honoring his wishes, I honored his life. And in doing so, I found a new kind of connection, one that isn’t rooted in a single place, but in a shared sense of meaning and memory.
As I write this, I’m struck by the truth that it’s not just the actions we take that bring comfort, it’s knowing we are doing what our loved ones would have wanted. Whether it’s laying flowers on a grave or scattering ashes into the wind, it’s the intention that matters. It’s the honoring.
Memorial Day—Decoration Day—asks us to remember. Not just soldiers, though their sacrifices deserve our deepest reverence, but anyone we’ve loved and lost. It asks us to reflect on how we keep their memories alive, how we live in a way that continues to include them.
This kind of honoring isn’t something to do just once a year. It’s a way of living with purpose, with love, and with community. It’s a way of saying: you mattered. You still do.
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