Memorial Day: From Parades to Wreaths
Memorial Day lives in my memory as something sacred and communal — a day when we went downtown to watch a parade of bands, military reserves marching in step, a few floats rolling past, and then a ceremony at the park where the fallen of wars past were honored with a 21-gun salute and a slow walk to the cemetery, carrying wreaths of bright, defiant flowers. Afterward came the picnic, and then the rounds — visiting every cemetery where relatives rested, planting flowers in memory of lives fully lived.
As I grew older and moved away from home, those traditions grew faint. Like so many, I let the day drift into the comfortable rhythms of backyard cookouts and laughter with friends — meaningful in their own way, but quieter in their honoring.
Since marrying Ed and founding Invisible Warriors, I have found myself returning — not just to tradition, but to something deeper. Working alongside veterans and their families has renewed in me a reverence for what this day truly asks of us: to remember, to honor, and to refuse to let the cost of our freedom become background noise.
For the fifth year, we gathered at Veterans Memorial Park for the ceremony of laying wreaths at the base of the war monuments — a living tribute to every American who has fallen in service to this country since its founding. It is always a profound privilege to be part of this. And for the second consecutive year, Invisible Warriors placed a wreath among the others, a small but deeply felt act of collective gratitude.
The morning had brought rain — the kind that makes you wonder if the sky itself is grieving — and we were not sure the program would go on. But minutes before the clock struck eleven, the rain stopped. The show went on.
What followed was solemn and beautiful. Music. Singing. A crowd dressed in everything from uniforms to shorts to Sunday dresses — a cross-section of our community, just like our country itself — standing and sitting in quiet, dignified respect. Tears appeared. Salutes were rendered. No one needed to be told what this moment meant.
"The ceremony closed with God Bless America rising from our voices as the American flag was raised from half-staff to full. It was slow and deliberate — the flag lying flat against the pole as it climbed, inch by inch, toward the top. And then, at the very last moment, the wind picked up. The flag broke free and flew — bold and full, high above all of us."
The ceremony closed with God Bless America rising from our voices as the American flag was raised from half-staff to full. It was slow and deliberate — the flag lying flat against the pole as it climbed, inch by inch, toward the top. And then, at the very last moment, the wind picked up. The flag broke free and flew — bold and full, high above all of us.
It was a God moment. There is no other way to say it.
The day is over now. But I carry a hope — a genuine one — that the memories, the reverence, and the prayers for those who are gone and those who continue to stand watch will not simply dissolve into the coming week. May they last. May we carry them forward until we gather again.
Same time. Same place. And all across this country.
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