Narrative Essay On Memorial Day
I have an uncanny ability to read people; I had a good feeling about this guy. He called two days before Memorial Day and ordered a silk cemetery piece for his mother and one for his father. Not too unusual, since my sister and I owned a small flower shop in our hometown and it is common for out-of-state customers to have us deliver their orders to graves they are not able to visit. The fact one piece was to be delivered 25 miles away, wasn’t a request we had every day. His mother was buried in our town’s largest cemetery, but his father’s grave, was “In that big cemetery on Rt. 13 in Marion, IL.” I knew the cemetery he was talking about. He apologized that he lived in another state and since it had been a long time since he had been to his father’s grave, he couldn’t give me directions to the plot. I said it should be no problem, since there are always people sitting at the cemeteries on that day collecting donations for the annual upkeep of the place, complete with maps of plots, to help people find their loved ones.
Memorial Day had been known as Decoration Day, for 103 years, before the name was changed in 1971. It was a time to honor …show more content…
deceased military, family, and friends. General John A. Logan officially declared Decoration Day, May 30, 1868, as a day to decorate the gravesites of fallen Civil War soldiers with flowers. Growing up in southern Illinois, most of us knew the first unofficial Decoration Day was observed in April, 1866 by Gen. Logan at a cemetery in Carbondale, IL, where he lived during the Civil War. Looking on the Internet, however, it becomes apparent many other states also boast of observing the first Decoration Day, with at least one prior to the April 1866 date and several others after it. Needless to say, it is a popular and busy time of the year for florists everywhere.
The gentleman had grown up in our hometown and had obtained our name and number from one of the local funeral homes in town. He did not want to give me his credit card number; he wished to be billed, instead. It was not our policy to blindly make a house account for someone we did not know. But when I found out his last name was Nolen, I told him it was my maiden name, too. We chatted for a while and found that we knew some of the same people and were most likely related. I made the quick decision to take a chance on filling his order.
Our designer made Mr. Nolen’s flowers and offered to deliver them to Marion the following day. When he took them the day before Memorial Day, he was surprised to find no one sitting at tables taking donations or assisting with directions at the cemetery. He told me there were three adjacent cemeteries in the same vicinity and he could have spent all day there and never found that particular grave amongst tens of thousands of graves. I agreed I would go the next day, which was on Sunday and happened to be Memorial Day, proper.
I made a mad dash to the cemetery so I could get back before a backyard barbeque at my house with the Venezuelan family of one of our exchange students.
I drove to the middle of the first cemetery, to look for a table of helpers assisting friends and families locate sites. There was none to be found. I went to the office and found it locked. When I called the number listed on the front door of the office for emergencies, I listened to a recording saying no one was available due to the observation of Memorial Day! I was unbelieving. I thought it must be some bad joke—how can you collect donations from families and help people find gravesites on the busiest weekend of the year if you are home, observing the holiday? That would never be the case in my hometown, where there were always dedicated volunteers to do the
job.
I did what I often do after I’ve exhausted all my resources—panicked. This was obviously important to this man to place flowers on the grave of his father, which he had not done in years. It was important to me, because I promised him I would get the job done and the flower business was my baby. I looked over the infinite rows of graves, feeling frustrated. There were thousands and thousands of tombstones. I pulled up to a little church in the midst of the graves and did the only thing left for me to do: I put my van in park, closed my eyes, and prayed. I prayed I would find the grave because it was important for this man; I prayed I would find the grave because it was important to me. Before saying amen, and as an afterthought, I said “and quickly, Lord". When I opened my eyes, I looked around for something to catch my attention. A couple of roads over, to my right, was a family mausoleum that glinted silver in the sunlight. Well, that looked like as good a place as any, to start.
As I finally reached the road, I began looking both left and right for a tombstone with NOLEN on it, presumably without flowers. Driving about 5 mph, I lost sight of the mausoleum and became focused on looking for the tombstone I had imagined in my mind. I was so engrossed in my search, and had such a death grip on the steering wheel, I literally scared myself and burned with embarrassment when my horn blasted through the solemn setting, and reverberated off the granite rocks. I had been seriously hunkered over the steering wheel. I looked around to see if anyone noticed my seemingly irreverent act, and kept creeping forward. By the time I realized I passed the mausoleum I had scoped out in the first place, I realized how futile the endeavor really was. I could, without exaggeration, spend several days hunting up and down rows of tombstones, without any guarantee of ever finding it. But wait—I had prayed. After all, I should honor that fact. I slowly backed up until I was at the point I had honked. Ironically, the mausoleum that initially glinted in the sunlight and caught my attention was just a few yards from it.
I parked and got out of my vehicle. Instinctively, I walked in a straight line from my van, past many rows of tombstones. My brain again said this was crazy. I simultaneously looked down and found a stone with my mother’s maiden name on it—SHORT. Ironic, yes; accident, I didn’t know. Was I being lead? I kept walking. I was just about to reach the next road, when I saw NOLEN chiseled into a stone. I had walked straight to it, passing 25 or 30 rows of graves! Even though I saw it with my own eyes, I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. I jumped up and down, laughed, cried, and talked out loud. I thanked and praised God. A poor old lady at a nearby tombstone had to hear my story--I couldn't keep it in. I placed the silk saddle upon the tombstone and took pictures to send to Mr. Nolen and keep for myself, as a reminder of God’s willingness to still answer prayer--and of His absolute existence--even at short notice.
I went back to the flower shop and called Mr. Nolen. Even though I had taken pictures of the flowers on the tombstone, I couldn’t send them without explanation. I had to talk to him. I had to tell him of my epiphany. He seemed as blown away as I was and told me he hadn’t been to his father’s grave since the funeral, many years before. He reiterated what I had been reminded: "God works in mysterious ways".
When I begin to doubt God, I remember how He answered that prayer in a matter of minutes, when I asked for something so seemingly unimportant in the larger scheme of things. I was in that cemetery no more than a total of 30 minutes. Wow.
When I delivered the third Memorial Day flowers to that same tombstone, I found a man and woman sitting at a table to assist loved ones and I asked them how many people they thought were buried in the three adjoining cemeteries. Without hesitating, the man told me approximately 23,000. God was, is, and always will be, amazing.
Memorial Day had been known as Decoration Day, for 103 years, before the name was changed in 1971. It was a time to honor …show more content…
deceased military, family, and friends. General John A. Logan officially declared Decoration Day, May 30, 1868, as a day to decorate the gravesites of fallen Civil War soldiers with flowers. Growing up in southern Illinois, most of us knew the first unofficial Decoration Day was observed in April, 1866 by Gen. Logan at a cemetery in Carbondale, IL, where he lived during the Civil War. Looking on the Internet, however, it becomes apparent many other states also boast of observing the first Decoration Day, with at least one prior to the April 1866 date and several others after it. Needless to say, it is a popular and busy time of the year for florists everywhere.
The gentleman had grown up in our hometown and had obtained our name and number from one of the local funeral homes in town. He did not want to give me his credit card number; he wished to be billed, instead. It was not our policy to blindly make a house account for someone we did not know. But when I found out his last name was Nolen, I told him it was my maiden name, too. We chatted for a while and found that we knew some of the same people and were most likely related. I made the quick decision to take a chance on filling his order.
Our designer made Mr. Nolen’s flowers and offered to deliver them to Marion the following day. When he took them the day before Memorial Day, he was surprised to find no one sitting at tables taking donations or assisting with directions at the cemetery. He told me there were three adjacent cemeteries in the same vicinity and he could have spent all day there and never found that particular grave amongst tens of thousands of graves. I agreed I would go the next day, which was on Sunday and happened to be Memorial Day, proper.
I made a mad dash to the cemetery so I could get back before a backyard barbeque at my house with the Venezuelan family of one of our exchange students.
I drove to the middle of the first cemetery, to look for a table of helpers assisting friends and families locate sites. There was none to be found. I went to the office and found it locked. When I called the number listed on the front door of the office for emergencies, I listened to a recording saying no one was available due to the observation of Memorial Day! I was unbelieving. I thought it must be some bad joke—how can you collect donations from families and help people find gravesites on the busiest weekend of the year if you are home, observing the holiday? That would never be the case in my hometown, where there were always dedicated volunteers to do the
job.
I did what I often do after I’ve exhausted all my resources—panicked. This was obviously important to this man to place flowers on the grave of his father, which he had not done in years. It was important to me, because I promised him I would get the job done and the flower business was my baby. I looked over the infinite rows of graves, feeling frustrated. There were thousands and thousands of tombstones. I pulled up to a little church in the midst of the graves and did the only thing left for me to do: I put my van in park, closed my eyes, and prayed. I prayed I would find the grave because it was important for this man; I prayed I would find the grave because it was important to me. Before saying amen, and as an afterthought, I said “and quickly, Lord". When I opened my eyes, I looked around for something to catch my attention. A couple of roads over, to my right, was a family mausoleum that glinted silver in the sunlight. Well, that looked like as good a place as any, to start.
As I finally reached the road, I began looking both left and right for a tombstone with NOLEN on it, presumably without flowers. Driving about 5 mph, I lost sight of the mausoleum and became focused on looking for the tombstone I had imagined in my mind. I was so engrossed in my search, and had such a death grip on the steering wheel, I literally scared myself and burned with embarrassment when my horn blasted through the solemn setting, and reverberated off the granite rocks. I had been seriously hunkered over the steering wheel. I looked around to see if anyone noticed my seemingly irreverent act, and kept creeping forward. By the time I realized I passed the mausoleum I had scoped out in the first place, I realized how futile the endeavor really was. I could, without exaggeration, spend several days hunting up and down rows of tombstones, without any guarantee of ever finding it. But wait—I had prayed. After all, I should honor that fact. I slowly backed up until I was at the point I had honked. Ironically, the mausoleum that initially glinted in the sunlight and caught my attention was just a few yards from it.
I parked and got out of my vehicle. Instinctively, I walked in a straight line from my van, past many rows of tombstones. My brain again said this was crazy. I simultaneously looked down and found a stone with my mother’s maiden name on it—SHORT. Ironic, yes; accident, I didn’t know. Was I being lead? I kept walking. I was just about to reach the next road, when I saw NOLEN chiseled into a stone. I had walked straight to it, passing 25 or 30 rows of graves! Even though I saw it with my own eyes, I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. I jumped up and down, laughed, cried, and talked out loud. I thanked and praised God. A poor old lady at a nearby tombstone had to hear my story--I couldn't keep it in. I placed the silk saddle upon the tombstone and took pictures to send to Mr. Nolen and keep for myself, as a reminder of God’s willingness to still answer prayer--and of His absolute existence--even at short notice.
I went back to the flower shop and called Mr. Nolen. Even though I had taken pictures of the flowers on the tombstone, I couldn’t send them without explanation. I had to talk to him. I had to tell him of my epiphany. He seemed as blown away as I was and told me he hadn’t been to his father’s grave since the funeral, many years before. He reiterated what I had been reminded: "God works in mysterious ways".
When I begin to doubt God, I remember how He answered that prayer in a matter of minutes, when I asked for something so seemingly unimportant in the larger scheme of things. I was in that cemetery no more than a total of 30 minutes. Wow.
When I delivered the third Memorial Day flowers to that same tombstone, I found a man and woman sitting at a table to assist loved ones and I asked them how many people they thought were buried in the three adjoining cemeteries. Without hesitating, the man told me approximately 23,000. God was, is, and always will be, amazing.