Honor to the Fallen

Boalsburg, PA, calls itself  "the birthplace of Memorial Day." This photo depicts the statue of three women - Emma Hunter Stewart, Sophie Keller Hall, and Elizabeth Weaver Myers - who carried flowers to the cemetery by what is now the Zion Lutheran Church in Boalsburg, to decorate the graves of loved ones,  in October 1864. The statue was created by Lorann Jacobs.

Memorial Day is honored with full fanfare in Boalsburg each year on the last Monday of May. There are family-oriented events, a parade, a run, a Civil War encampment and reenactment, music, dancing, a craft fair, food, and speeches. And of course there are cemetery walks and the decoration of graves.

I remember as a little girl that my father's mother called it "Decoration Day." She enlisted the help of various relatives to drive her around to visit the graves of her loved ones each year. The decoration of graves was not just reserved for those fallen in war in the service of their country, but was extended to other loved ones who had passed. As a child, I thought her custom odd: who would want to spend so much time in graveyards?

Last week a friend of mine passed away. I posted a photo and wrote a blog posting on Friday of last week that talked about her death. The photo was one of a bird nest into which funeral flowers had been woven. Friday night after making the posting, I sent the blog link to a friend of mine who was very close to the woman who had died. Touched by it, she asked if the family could display my photo and the blog posting at the services for our friend. Of course I said yes.

Wednesday evening was the visitation with my friend's family. I walked in just as the services began, and there, displayed front and center, was a lovely poster-sized color printout of both my photo and the blog posting! It was so BIG! People were standing around it, reading it, looking at the photo. Some were crying. Several people asked: "Who wrote this?" I admitted:  "I am the GirlWithACamera."

A few people thanked me, expressed appreciation: "Your posting was beautiful; it made me cry." I felt both awkward and pleased; awkward at having attention drawn to me, but glad that somehow I had contributed something unique in my friend's memory.

Thursday morning I attended her memorial service. A number of people spoke about my friend. They talked about her fearlessness, her strength, her love of family, her joy of life. One of her best friends talked about the "bucket list" of things my friend had wanted to do but had not gotten to:  walk up a volcano in Hawaii, run along the Great Wall of China, see the aurora borealis in Alaska. We all cried.

Upon its conclusion, I left the service, grabbed myself a to-go sandwich for lunch, and drove to the graveyard in Boalsburg, which was only a mile or so away. There I sat and ate my sandwich, and reflected on life and loss; and I took a few pictures of the cemetery and statue in a mist that turned into a dripping rain.

Like my grandmother, I seem to be spending more time in graveyards these days. As I grow older, it's where more of my friends and relatives are. I start to understand why my grandmother went there: to honor them and to remember.

It is also true that you honor someone not just by what you leave at his or her graveside, or by the pretty words you say, or write, on their behalf - but also by what you take away with you, how you choose to live your life. Not just good memories and happy thoughts (which are well and good, and better than bad memories and unhappy thoughts), but a commitment to honor their dreams and goals, and the person that they were.

The night my friend died, I had a dream:  I was at my friend's house and she insisted that I take something of hers to remember her by. So I reach into my memories of my friend, and I pull out her fearlessness. I take it, and I wind it around me like a breastplate, and I swear to wear it in her honor into some worthy battle or adventure, like a knight of old. It's what SHE would do.

This I do in honor of you: my friend, Nancy.