I remember

In my family Memorial day meant visiting all the local cemeteries where generations of McConnell's and Horner's were buried, pulling up the dead flowers and weeds and planting new fresh flowers in their place. I never understood it. I had never lost anyone close to me and it seemed like more physical labor than was necessary on a summer day. Now I understand. The flowers were more than ornamentation they were words, prayers, wishes, memories all bundled up in a bouquet of color and placed on an alter. They were my grandparents way of saying "We remember and we'll never forget." I can not travel to all the cemeteries and leave flowers. These words will have to do.

Grandpa Harry, I'll never forget walking from your house to grandma's with you ever day. You taught me that a single slice of American cheese is as good a snack as any and that the only furniture a room really needs is a chair to sit in and a record player to listen to.

Grandma Potts, I'll never forget spending the weekends with you, ordering groceries from the local grocer who still delivered in his beat up blue ford, and fixing your hair for church on Sunday. You taught me that you should never cut the tops off of artificial Christmas trees and that faith is always enough.

Chris, I'll never forget the time you called me to ask if I'd lost weight and when I asked how you could tell that over the phone you said "because your voice sounds lighter." You taught me to laugh at myself.

Dianna, I'll never forget the last day we spent together. You told me the water in the pool was warm. You lied! I've never seen anyone laugh so hard. You taught me that life can be far too short so I may as well squeeze it all in now.

Grandpa Dale, I'll never forget the time I found your love letters to grandma or the way you could tickle me by wiggling your finger. You taught me that to love is to give something of yourself.

Granny Morrison, I'll never forget our argument about drinking coke for breakfast. You taught me that you're never too old for change.

Pam, I'll never forget the time we made the "mile high apple pie" because we forgot to cut holes in the crust. You taught me how to scrapbook and showed me that remembering the good times feels much better than holding on to the bad ones.

Aunt Thelma, I'll never forget the time you and grandma Lou built the damn in the creek behind her house. You were laughing and splashing "like a couple of school girls" as grandpa put it. You're hugs always felt so sincere. You taught me that a cousin can be a best friend.

Nanny Duncan, I'll never forget the time you dried my shoes in the oven because you thought it would be faster. They had big black burns across the bottom sole and smelled like burnt rubber for weeks! You taught me that someone doesn't have to be a blood relation to love them like they are your own.