Life is what Memorial Day does best

Our household has had a great intersection of lives this past weekend. Memory indulgence that will make for some animated talk around a graveside one day. Life is what Memorial Day does best. We remember military lives, and others precious to us — all the living that went on in the years that were given.

My husband Terry was 70 years old last Saturday. We kept the Big Secret. Children flew in from Alaska and Minnesota, some of our grands in tow. With our Alaskan daughter came an old family friend — not getting around great, only able to fly with someone else to help.

One by one, they surprised him until he was so full of surprise he didn't have room for more. But there was more. A catered party in a rented space. Tables laden with eats. A heartfelt birthday blessing offered by a teen grandson. Spice cupcakes that our oldest daughter baked. His three sisters — one from the coast — telling stories on him.

This is a guy who has “laid down his life” for family and friends. And they all came out — the ones who could — to tell him so. Even our son, restricted with his wife's health, managed to visit the house later for a family photo — bringing a card with a father-and-son Monster Jam ticket inside.

These past few days our home has bulged with grandchildren doused in fish slime, and garden dirt, and tiny snakes curled around their fingers. Grandma has cooked up a breakfast tornado — pancakes, french toast, scrambled eggs. And thanked God a multitude that I over-ordered on party food. We've been living on leftovers.

The friend who came, alone now for years, losing her husband first to divorce and then death — and their only child to an accident when he was 22 — sits in the Amish rocker with her cup of coffee soaking up the noise and excitement. An Alaskan to the bone, she's smitten with North Idaho.

The 14-year-old grandson is learning how you really play Words with Friends, determined to never again let grandma win by 200 points. He's indispensable to his grandpa who is unable to walk without his “sticks” — being an extra set of legs. Even winning the debate about whether or not he could back a trailer.

Terry and I almost didn't get to this point with our family. He never wanted to give up on us but there was a time when I did. Turbulent and painful years. Ultimately God showed me what I could have — what we could have — if we kept together. And here we are.

Memorial Day is about life. Life with its “good, bad and ugly” — but also its “good, better and best.” It is a day for adding up the memories, and arriving at a sum greater than the parts.

Life happens now. Memories come after — and linger on. When someone stands beside my grave — though it won't be for the high honor of remembering one who has served in the military — I want them to see life. Not perfection — but life that loved life.