We occasionally feel we need a break from our life’s daily “hustle and bustle” to renew our spirits. A mental refresher is essential, whether at the end of a work project, a school year, or a challenging time.
I understand when I need to go home. Not the home where I currently reside, but a place in my soul that reconnects me to me. A journey where I tune out the noise of everyday life and hear the voice within. So, I pack my bags, fill my gas tank, and head to the mountains. And it never fails that the hills beckon me at the beginning of June each year.
In Appalachian communities, Decoration Day is traditionally celebrated on the first Sunday in June to honor those who have passed. Families unite to lay flowers on the graves of their departed loved ones and typically gather for a reunion dinner or picnic afterward.
When I was a child, my family came from far and wide across Tennessee and Georgia to honor those we lost along the way. There are two cemeteries in our ancestral home in Monterey, Tennessee, and I recall laying flowers in both while impatiently listening to stories about each person.
I tugged at Mom’s dress, prompting her to hurry. “Mama, we must get to the picnic before all the scrumptious food is gone!”
And, when I say food, I mean enough nourishment to feed an army. When you request a Southern lady to provide a dish, she will bring four. And, if you asked my Aunt Mary Ruth to contribute four, she would bring ten. See what I mean?
After we feasted, young cousins played games while grandparents and parents told more embellished tales. Laughter could be heard throughout the town after tears had fallen on the grounds of the flower-laden cemeteries. My brother and I both treasured Decoration Day when we all gathered once again in the place where we all began.
Today, my boisterous family is quieter. I try with all my might to remember the stories and faces of those who are now resting in the hills beneath the earth. Missing each and wishing they would again fill my Decoration Day Sunday with innocent happiness as they once did.
This year I will go to the cemeteries, lay flowers on their graves, and tell them new stories as if they can hear me. To celebrate them with such simple gestures is a reminder to all those who rest; they are never forgotten by those who adore them.
It is difficult to understand why visiting my old family home renews my soul, but when we return to a place that reminds us of pure love, it cleanses our spirits. Our everyday busy life is paused and replaced with sweet memories of people who propelled us to achieve our purpose.
Much of our time is spent attempting to escape sadness. However, not all sorrow is sad; it just looks that way.
When I was a little girl, I asked my father as he was laying a rose on his baby sister’s grave, “Dad, why are you crying? Are you sad?”
“Well, for just this moment, I am. But see all these folks’ names on the tombstones?” Dad questioned as he pointed around a large area in the old Monterey cemetery.
“These are my family; I would be nothing without their care. Their love feeds me each day even though they are gone. And, Lynn, there is nothing sad about that.”
I understand exactly what he meant each time I run my fingers across his name engraved on his monument. He and all those lying near him bring me home to remember I would be nothing without their devotion, laughter, and inspiration. There is no sorrow in such greatness.
A few Decoration Days ago, I took my cousin, Bobby, with me to visit and walk through the aisles of headstones. When he recognized a name of an old pal who had died, he began to tell a story or two. We wandered through each cemetery, placing flowers, telling tales, and shedding a few tears.
“Well, I enjoyed that!” He declared as we walked toward the car.
I smiled as the sky began to sprinkle rain softly on his windshield. He and I both know that those who lie in the hills live on in heaven, yet they remind us how grateful we are that they lived a while with us. For they provided the enjoyable stories of our lives.
I will head to the mountains and sit beside my brother’s grave on this treasured Decoration Day. And I shall refresh my soul by feeling the love left by the family surrounding me.
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Lynn Walker Gendusa is a Georgia-based author and columnist. Her work appears regularly on NowHabersham.com and across the U.S. through the USA Today Network. She can be reached at www.lynngendusa.com. For more stories of family, faith, hope, inspiration, and love, click here.
