Blogger: Janet Kobobel Grant
As I considered what to write about on this Memorial weekend, my memory floated back to the year my brother and I muddled our way through May gift-giving. That May was the first year we were old enough to consider buying a Mother’s Day present. I was probably in first grade and my bro in second.
I don’t recall how we organized the outing or who dropped us off to shop. But I do remember that we figured the drugstore would contain the perfect gift for Mom. The drugstore and the grocery store were the two places we thought about when it came to purchasing items.
As we meandered through the store, looking for options, we knew we were limited by our budget. Both of us received a quarter each week. Thus far in our lives, we had only spent the money buying candy at our neighborhood’s tiny grocery.
Eventually, after much agonizing, we landed on not one but two perfect items for Mom: a box of Russell Stover chocolates and a bouquet of plastic flowers. Our finances didn’t allow for a card.
Holiday Mashup
After we proudly handed the items to Mom, she exclaimed over how wonderful we were. Then she did mention–casually–that the flowers were meant to be laid on graves for Memorial Day.
I don’t know how my brother responded, but I was horrified that our small offerings managed to intermingle the two May events. I guess Mom told us because she wanted to guarantee this was the only Mother’s Day in which she was honored in such a manner.
That silly occasion reminds me that whatever we have to offer on May’s two most important days, our small gifts are expressions of the love and respect we hold for our living mothers and for those who have passed–especially for those who have died in service to our country.
So take a moment in the midst of our three-day spree of not working to thank God for those who gave us their all. Their offerings were generous beyond measure.
And please also remember the contractors and mercenaries who went where governments would not, and stayed for the fell season dof eath.
****
These, in the day that heaven was falling
the hour when Earth’s foundations fled,
followed their mercenary calling
and took their wages, and are dead.
–
Their shoulders held the sky suspended,
they stood and Earth’s foundations stay.
What God abandoned, these defended
and saved the sum of things for pay.
*
A.E. Housman, ‘Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries’
WW1’s The Battle of the Somme (July-November 1916) was 4 1/2 months of carnage, The British Empire lost 420,000 men, France lost 200,000.
Canadians were there, of course, but up until recently, I had no connection to it. Then in early Spring, I found out that my paternal great-grandfather (who lived less than an hour from where I live now!!) joined up in mid-1916 and ended up in France in late summer. He was there no more than 3 weeks before he died at The Somme.
When I was reading all this on Ancestry.ca, I got rather upset, because from the family records I’ve seen, I think he was a man more suited to paperwork than combat. I was also upset because, as weird as this sounds, I’d just met him, and then lost him to a senseless, useless battle.
But then, I decided to think of him as a brave man doing his best to protect his country, his small town, his parents, and his wife and daughters, and the men he fought with.
On Friday, I get to go to that little town of his, and I’m going to look at it with a totally different appreciation.
My grandmother always put vases of flowers from her garden on the graves of friends and family on Memorial Day. I remember pumping and carrying water for her, fearing that she was decorating every grave in the cemetery.
* Her brothers had died in the Great War, and their flowers sat next to brass stars with flags. I was stunned when Grandma said they died of disease, not combat. My 5-year-old brain couldn’t quite process that bit of information, which is probably why I remember it so clearly now.
My grandfather survived the war, but the gun shot to his shoulder (peeking up out of a foxhole) weakened his heart. Still, he made it to his 80s. He was so proud of his Purple Heart. He lost so many friends, and he couldn’t talk about it without choking up. I’m so thankful he survived.
*And I love your gift to your mother, Janet. I remember my first gift to my mom … writing on a piece of paper something like “all my love” and wrapping it. The next year, with my few cents, I bought her a thing or two at a garage sale one street over from my home. And I was so proud to give a gift to her. 🙂
Shelli, our moms most certainly weren’t the only ones to receive odd gifts for Mother’s Day. But our hearts were earnest.
Just lovely, Janet. Thank you.