by Jamie Belnap

STAFF WRITER

As I shuffle each Memorial Day through the neatly cut grass eyeing the abiding headstones in the cemetery -- both new and old -- I often wonder what times were like during the years engraved on each stone. So many stories are buried in those quiet places, some of which come alive the last Monday of May as families gather to honor those who have since passed on.

Some say the "memorial" in Memorial Day each year is being ignored by too many of us who are beneficiaries of those who have sacrificed much -- ancestors, family members, loved ones, neighbors, friends and those who served so diligently in the military. Some question whether too many of us think of the day simply as a holiday to kick off summer.

While in some respects this may be true, I still find cemeteries crowded with what seems like more and more visitors paying their respects.

Death isn't something that I'm well acquainted with. Most of my grandparents and other loved ones are still living. One grandmother did pass away a number of years ago, but it was a situation that I was not sure how to react to at the age of 9. At the service, many tears were shed, and I, feeling like all smiles were banned, plastered on a frown that I thought was very authentic looking.

Growing up, my grandmother was always sick and usually ushered around in a wheelchair. My parents urged me to hug her and talk to her, but it was hard because I always felt like hugging her would somehow hurt her more. Some of my older cousins, however, have amazing memories of her, including tales of sleepovers, going to church and excursions to the family cabin.

As I look at the colorful array of flowers that surround her grave each Memorial Day, those stories and all of the happiness that emulates from them somehow come to life -- even for someone who has only ever experienced them secondhand.

I learned to respect the observance of Memorial Day by watching the actions of my parents. Dad always cut the best-looking flowers from his lush backyard beds to decorate Grandma's grave. Typically he took a moment to clear away grass clippings and other debris while talking briefly about her life, before us youngsters got tired of standing and wandered back to the car. We usually ended up asking my dad questions about her as he piloted the family van back home, probably in an attempt to gain a better understanding of the person whose personality was impeded by her illness.

Another Memorial Day memory of mine revolves around our annual May trek to Cache Valley, where my parents sadly buried their precious identical infant twins, Heidi and Sara, 28 years ago. Again it's a situation that I'm only acquainted with through stories. But as I watch my mom brush way tears each year, I realize more and more the connection and love that parents have for their children -- even those whose lives were so short.

Memorial Day is truly a day that unites families. Perhaps that's what has caused the movement from memorializing to vacationing. But maybe it's not all bad. My extended family still gathers at the family cabin each Memorial Day. In a way, I think that's how we still honor Grandma and the strong ties she and Grandpa instilled in their five sons.

jamieb@tooeletranscript.com