what i thought as i caught up on blogs

specifically my friend's regarding their memorial day:

she wrote about how growing up her family attended our hometown's service although they did not have any family buried there.

i thought about how we used to visit our family plot with my great-aunts and uncles. it was always fun as they'd share stories about my great-granddad, grandmother, my dad's kid brother. once four- or five-year-old carl had to go really bad, and lucky for him uncle bob and aunt betty had commuted to the cemetery in their camper. by all reports it was the coolest thing ever, peeing in a camper.

i thought about how i had the best of intentions to get our troop to mayberry's service where every year vern's dad is involved. i've never seen his dad perform memorial day service duties. i will regret losing him before i and the kids do. thinking on this, and how he was nearly 81, i was resolved sunday night on going. i failed to mention my resolve to vern. monday morning came and i forgot all about the memorial service in the leaked diapers and nursing and breakfast and kitchen remodeling and "really, i'd just like to start a day clean for a change" until i was rinsing my hair of conditioner. someone rang the bell at the very moment i left the bathroom, disgusted at my shotty resolve, and i hollered to caleb not to let anyone in the house as i, my disgust, and my towel dashed for cover in the bedroom. "dad's out back cutting lumber! tell them! do not open that door!" in response came the chime of the front door opening, and yelped a little louder. poor caleb. on the other end of his near-streaking mother was his near-yellow-sighted grandmother. caleb chose wisely. vern's mom laughed later that she entered the service right behind the flag, marching in just on time. and with dry pants thanks to her grandson.

i thought about how we did not.

she wrote about how taps were played at their church service sunday morning.

i thought about how my grandmother refused a 21-one gun salute or taps at my grandfather's funeral. she has not been able to handle listening to either since a family death after world war II. i thought about how i'll never relate them to my grandfather. my navy boy grandfather who wore a purple hawaiian shirt in his casket. who enlisted when he saw a battleship on the cover of life magazine and was married in his navy uniform while on leave. and then served on that same ship, giving me the magazine his mother had tucked away the last time we visited him. who choked up every time he told the story of meeting a man, a lifetime later while he and my grandmother taught english in japan, who had been on the beach he stormed oh so long ago. he and that japanese veteran had embraced and cried together.

my friend wrote about how she began to thinking about her cousin's deep emotion when taps was played earlier this year at their grandfather's funeral. she wrote about how hard she cried, and how she avoided hearing taps all the next day. she wrote of her renewed appreciation for our servicemen, including those in her family.

i thought in agreement the sentiment of gratitude. and then how i have not cried at the deaths of any my great-aunts or uncles or even my grandfathers. i thought about how almost annoyed i get when anyone belabors in grief their elderly grandparent's passing.

her college roommate by then had commented: "I wish I could have been there to bawl with you."

i had not thought that.

with more than a little shame, i wondered why i've turned so hard. whether one day vern's dad's death will crack my shell.

we will not be missing mayberry's memorial service next year. i'm crossing my fingers vern's dad will not be either.