20 Years Ago - June 7, 1989

Today I drove my mom to the cemetery where my dad is buried. Strangely, there was little emotion surrounding the day for me. I was actually more interested in looking at the gravestones of other long-gone family members and the names of people from the small town where I grew up.

He's been gone for 20 years. She kept saying, "Wow. Twenty years goes by fast." It does and it doesn't. I can remember the events of that day as clearly as if they had happened last month. On the other hand, in that time I have gotten married, obtained two college degrees, and become a mother. The world has seen two Bushes, a Clinton, and Obama as President, two wars in Iraq, and a rise in global terror. Organic food has become mainstream and the Mariners went to the playoffs 4 times (Dad didn't live to see them even have a winning season).

June 7, 1989. He was 43. My parents had been married not-quite 23 years. I was 19. I've now been without a dad for more than half my life. I'll catch up with him in a few years. Mom has lived as much time without him since he died as she did before they were married. In a few more years, she'll have lived as a widow longer than as a married woman.

These are just the numbers. There is so much more to say that I just don't have the energy for today. About the words and the voice etched into my mind forever telling me that he had died; losing my mom when a part of her died that day; never getting to know my dad from the perspective of an adult; watching my 7-year-old sister grow instantly into a little adult, thinking she was responsible for caring for my mom. The list could go on. I hope I have the energy over the next couple of weeks to write about these things and others.

But for today, I'll just note that it's been 20 years.

Remembering

A friend's blog entry about Memorial Day left me with tears in my eyes.

On a trip to Europe while in high school, I visited the American Cemetery in Luxembourg. At the time, I was mainly impressed with the way all the headstones lined up and that Patton was buried there.

Now, just thinking about the cemetery brings tears to my eyes. I think of the young soldiers who gave their lives to protect my freedom. I think of the families who received a visit to their door or a telegram telling them they'd never see their son/husband/brother again. The bodies that lie below the headstones in Luxembourg were buried across the world from their homes.

20+ years ago, when I saw the symmetrical lines of the headstones, I was reminded of orchard plantings. Now whenever I see an orchard, I can't help but think of lines of crosses, each representing a fallen soldier. I try not to take their (and their families') sacrifices for granted. One day a year hardly seems enough to honor these heroes.