It had been awhile since I went to the cemetery. Christmas of 2005 to be exact. Everything then was covered under a blanket of snow and the wind was cold. Not real conducive for a good melt down. Kevin and I laid down our poinsettia's and stood against the season as long as we could.

Which wasn't all that long. Neither grief or winter is for wusses.

I don't know why but this year I just had to go when Memorial Day rolled around. I remembered the trips I once took with my grandmother Billie to tend to these headstones and pay our respects. Even though we knew that eternity is the real residence of all those whom we loved that rest there, we talked to them as if they could hear us.

And I believed then (and now) that they could.

Now Billie has joined them and it still doesn't seem real.

I know my grandfather Orin and Great Uncle Ed would have been inspired by all the flags flying in the breeze, they being honored veterans and all. The music of the flapping of each old glory was true and in tune with all that is right and good about the hero's among us who rest here. That generation is mostly gone now, but the way they touched my life, taught me of the world, and stood up for me as I was coming out, well I am lucky. Their bravery remains as my inspiration.

I wish Kevin could have known them.

Even as I know that they already know him.