In Memoriam

Today Samantha and I visited my father’s grave at Arlington National Cemetery. Since I am the only one of my siblings who lives in the area, I try to be regular about going--I generally make it about twice a year. Because his birthday falls so close to Memorial Day and Father’s Day, I usually make one of my trips around this time. I learned a couple of years ago, never to go on Memorial Day itself, as the cemetery is crowded to the gills with tourists and mourners. But it’s always a touching experience to go in the days leading up to or immediately after Memorial Day, because there are more people visiting the graves of their loved ones. Each year, the cemetery also places an American flag in front of each and every headstone, which is an amazing sight (they must have taken them down before I got there this year). As an immediate family member of someone buried there, you’re given a lifetime pass into the cemetery, which allows you to drive directly in, rather than having to walk or take a bus in with the tourists. You can therefore easily distinguish between mourners and tourists. I have found there is an unspoken camaraderie among the mourners—I have often been a recipient of a kind gesture from someone there. Today, I was looking for a vase that you can stake into the ground to hold the flowers I brought. I stopped by a couple of large bins they have set out and they were of course empty, with the high volume of visitors. I was a little discouraged, but decided my flowers just wouldn’t have any water. A woman stopped and saw me getting back into my car and yelled out that she had an extra one—she always brings her own. I was so grateful for her generosity.

I went while Ella was in school today—she has been several times and I wanted to go without the extra chatter and distraction. This was Samantha’s first time and I enjoyed going with just her.
After we spent some time at my Dad’s gravesite, I wandered a bit through that section of the cemetery. There were a few observations I wanted to share.

First, I stood in only a small section of the cemetery, and to see head stones as far as the eye can see is overwhelming. You can see in the pictures how perfectly aligned the headstones are with each other. When my Dad decided he wanted to be buried in Arlington, as a teenager I disliked the idea, partly because his burial place wouldn’t stand out—his headstone would be identical to everyone else. However, now I think it’s perfect. I like that he is numbered with those who worked to protect our country and particularly those who sacrificed their own lives for the freedom we enjoy and so often take for granted.

Second, you might have noticed in the photo with Samantha that each of the headstones has a religious symbol on it. My Dad’s has the generic Christian symbol on it, but shortly after he died we tried to determine what the symbol would be for Mormonism. Any guesses? We wandered through the cemetery looking for one, and actually there is one not too far from my Dad.

Third, as I was headed back to the car, I happened to see this grave. The beautiful, vibrant flowers caught my eye. When I looked at the headstone, I saw that the wife of a service man was buried here, and one day her husband would be buried there as well. I of course don’t know who placed those flowers there, but I pictured in my mind an elderly man placing those bright flowers on his wife’s grave, missing her on Memorial Day.

My Dad has been gone for almost 16 years, over half of my lifetime, and yet it seems like yesterday that we were saying our good-byes in the cemetery. I can't think of a better way to honor his memory than to talk about him with my children. Ella was very excited when I told her today was his birthday--she apparently announced to her pre-school class that "today is Grandpa Caylor's birthday...but he died."

Happy Birthday, Dad.