On Memorial Day I will wake up early and walk the short distance between where I live and where my father is buried.
It’s a short walk, just down the street, a left turn and one hell of a hike up a steep hill.
He’s buried at the Catholic cemetery in this sleepy northern California town where I was born. My grandparents and younger sister are laid to rest there too.
Even though they are technically my neighbors, I only make the short pilgrimage to visit their headstones once a year.
On Memorial Day Veterans in uniforms, Catholic Priests, and people who have lost their loved ones to all manner of tragedy will gather together at the chapel high atop the rolling graveyard to collectively share our grief in honoring those who have left us behind in this world.
American flags will dance in the wind like a chorus line in perfect unison, reminding us by their sheer 
numbers how many have given their lives so that we can live the way we live here in America.
There will be a few fresh graves – calling to mind our time spent in excruciating pain of loss and despair when we first buried our loves.
We will stand shoulder to shoulder and honor the dead in quiet acknowledgment and reverence for the love they left us in the wrinkles around our eyes from the many tears we cried when they walked out of our lives forever.
I will spread flowers on my fathers grave, and remember -
My father served in the Korean War. He used to enjoy boasting that the only combat he ever saw was when his unit accidentally blew up the latrine in his base camp. He didn’t lose any friends in the war and he returned home safe and sound.
When my mother first met my dad it was because he asked her to dance. She said yes due to the fact that he was too handsome to resist in his Army uniform.
She was also engaged to marry someone else.
Instead, she married the man of her dreams: my dad.
Or so she still likes to tell me – 32 years later.
I know my father loved her dearly. He worked all the way to death’s door to support their little dream life.
My father had other dreams, but he didn’t want to take risks where his family was concerned. He thought, “What are my dreams compared to what my family needs?”
He was happy if we were happy.
I was a teenager when my mother sat us down and told us my father had cancer. He was in his 40s, still a young man. I didn’t really understand what cancer was back then, or how serious the situation was to become.
Cancer was about to crawl in bed with our family, reach up and grab us firmly by the throats while ripping our hearts out, and lay waste our dreams in a little quaint house on Alta Avenue in Rohnert Park.
The Korean war didn’t claim my fathers life, but esophageal cancer sure did. It moved through his body as brutally as shrapnel from mortar fire does on the front lines – except it was slower and more insidious. It took several years to break down such a strong vibrant man – ultimately killing him from the inside out.
He died in the summer of my 18th year. He was 49.
There would be no more opportunity for him to live his dreams.
49 is terribly young – isn’t it?
I spent the years that followed his death forgetting my dreams, suppressing my dreams, putting off my dreams – so much so that here I am at age 49 wondering if I even have the right to be working these crazy dreams of mine.
I mean, shouldn’t I be working in a corporate job with the benefits and retirement – and forget this silliness?
Shouldn’t I do for my son what my dad did for me?
I think these thoughts in the days surrounding Memorial Day as I cut fresh roses and prepare to meet my mother at the chapel to spend a few hours with the living survivors of love once lost.
Because we remember them.
And their dreams.
Every Memorial Day.
Catherine
Catherine’s dream is to be a motivator and published writer. She is testing her theories on motivation with this blog and the seven other women who have volunteered to be a part of her dream project. Catherine also writes about her life as a mom at the blog A Week In The Life Of A Redhead. Someday, she would also like to be invited to speak at TED as the next Erma Bombeck. Catherine posts Sunday nights.
Catherine’s dream is to make 8 Women Dream the premier online publication for women looking to change their lives. She is a published author, known for her humorous speeches on finding your dream life and blogging for fun and profit. Catherine also writes about her life as a mom at the blog, A Week in the Life of A Redhead and several online marketing publications. She would also like to be invited to speak at TED about her observations on people chasing their big dreams. Catherine posts on Sunday evenings and fills in when needed. Join me on Google+ rapieress@aol.com
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