It started when the Civil War ended, and the first one was a parade around a race track that was used to house Union prisoners of war in Charleston, South Carolina, birthplace of the war. It was in honor of the dead buried there. Lots of other places also claim credit for it. Do we care? Not really. It’s just important that we take a moment to honor those who “gave the last full measure of devotion” to America.

Speeches will be made; picnic lunches will be eaten and maybe even patriotic songs will be sung. But today, I prefer to think about the loved ones of those who died in all the wars America has fought in since its founding. That is the proverbial ‘ripples in the pond’; all those family members and friends most affected by the loss of that soldier.

The tendency is to never talk about it; my family didn’t when my uncle Clemmie was killed in April of ’44 in New Guinea. Talking about it – about him – brought back the pain of his loss. I have come to know and love the memory of this man who died six years before I was born. I have a profound appreciation for the effect his untimely death at 21 had on everyone

That brings me to a discussion of the nature of grief. Homo sapiens are likely unique in the animal kingdom in that we can grieve the loss of a loved one for a remainder of a lifetime. We don’t forget; we just bury the pain in order to go on living. Other creatures are more fortunate. They have shorter attention spans and likely brains not capable of processing the death of a loved one for long periods of time. That may be a blessing.

So today, I honor Clemmie, for sure; but I also honor his sister Joan, Joanne, Jopie – three different names for a wonderful woman who just celebrated her 91st birthday. She still has memories of him, even though there was a fairly significant difference in their ages. But her most vivid memory is for how his death affected her mother – my grandmother. She has told me the story, and I have documented it for posterity and maybe for subsequent generations who might want to know about him after Jopie is gone.

But right now, it’s her story. She is the only person I gave it to. And I will keep it that way until she goes to join Clemmie, her brother Robert and her husband Jim. She’ll also be with her mother and father again. It is then and only then that I will I share what I wrote for her with my own children. That’s a respect thing. But it’s also important to remember. So on this Memorial Day, 2022, I celebrate Jopie Estaver, my aunt, for all that she is. I hope you have a lovely day.