memorial day

A few years ago I spent Memorial Day weekend in Utah with my Gran. She's pretty feisty. She's told us all that when she dies, she wants to be buried with a list of issues she'd like to take up with Poppy in heaven....one of which: Dying too early.

She drove me around the various cemeteries in her little 1980-something Toyota Camry (with the automatic sliding seat belts) and told me about people she knew (including her elementary school janitor). She had the back of the car filled with plants, each one specifically chosen for a certain spot. We brushed every speck off each stone and carefully placed the flowers.

Jennie is my namesake, yet I never knew her. How is it that we can feel so connected to people simply because they are our family? I'm glad it's that way. Gran tells me about Jennie's quirks, the things she used to say, and what she was like. I hope that, just like Gran's mother Jennie and her elementary school janitor, I will leave behind a little memory for someone else to enjoy. It's cheesy, but it's Memorial Day. We are supposed to remember.