Narrative Essay On Memorial Day

I have an uncanny ability to read people; I had a good feeling about this guy. He called two days before Memorial Day and ordered a silk cemetery piece for his mother and one for his father. Not too unusual, since my sister and I owned a small flower shop in our hometown and it is common for out-of-state customers to have us deliver their orders to graves they are not able to visit. The fact one piece was to be delivered 25 miles away, wasn’t a request we had every day. His mother was buried in our town’s largest cemetery, but his father’s grave, was “In that big cemetery on Rt. 13 in Marion, IL.” I knew the cemetery he was talking about. He apologized that he lived in another state and since it had been a long time since he had been to his father’s grave, he couldn’t give me directions to the plot. I said it should be no problem, since there are always people sitting at the cemeteries on that day collecting donations for the annual upkeep of the place, complete with maps of plots, to help people find their loved ones.

Memorial Day had been known as Decoration Day, for 103 years, before the name was changed in 1971. It was a time to honor
I drove to the middle of the first cemetery, to look for a table of helpers assisting friends and families locate sites. There was none to be found. I went to the office and found it locked. When I called the number listed on the front door of the office for emergencies, I listened to a recording saying no one was available due to the observation of Memorial Day! I was unbelieving. I thought it must be some bad joke—how can you collect donations from families and help people find gravesites on the busiest weekend of the year if you are home, observing the holiday? That would never be the case in my hometown, where there were always dedicated volunteers to do the