I am both fascinated and moved by how folks choose to represent and honor the memory of those who have departed.
I have passed too many stretches of road dotted with bouquets, wreaths and occasional crosses placed near stone walls, trees or phone poles… the spot marking a place where a life was taken. Perhaps it is too easy to assume that the deaths were caused by some form of negligence… speeding, talking on the cell phone and not paying attention, driving under the influence. Still… for those that placed those floral arrangements, the circumstances of the death is not as important as the absence that is felt in their lives.
For those of us who are not specifically connected, we have the luxury of being judgmental… “they have no one to blame but themselves.” But for those who knew, who loved… they can not escape the result of life’s severe decree… and their loss, their pain is displayed the many roads we pass.
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I can think of few Memorials that are as powerful as the one on the Mall in Washington, D.C. that honors the men and women who laid down their lives in Viet Nam. A black slab wall cut into a grassy knoll engraved simply with the names of those who are no more.
Wedged in the seams of that wall are pieces of paper bearing words from children who did not know their Fathers… or battle ribbons from those who had survived, and donated in loving memory to their buddies who did not make it back.
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There is a custom among European Jews to leave a stone when visiting a graveside. I love the simplicity… a plain tribute that is democratic in nature. I am a bit arbitrary about the stones I place… sometimes a perfect skipping stone from Woodmont, sometimes the nearest pebble to the headstone. Still, I feel compelled.
The concluding scene in Schindler’s List shows the actors from the film bringing the people they portrayed, and their families, by the grave of Oskar Schindler… placing a stone of memory to a Non-Jew, to a man of righteousness. To a Jew who survived that maelstrom, that plain rock represented an honor that no worldly wealth could surpass.
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I was driving thru Woodbury. A plain drive up Route 6 past more Antique Shops than you can count (interrupted only by beautiful Churches and liquor stores… I exaggerate). And last weekend I espied on the lawn fronting a simple home on the main drag a display of what must have been 3000+ small U.S. Flags sticking in the ground. It was, afterall, the weekend preceding our 5th Anniversary of 9/11. The Flags were the size of the ones they hand out along the parade routes of Memorial Day. But these flags were made of stiffened paper so that the Stars & Stripes would remain unfurled in a set wave.
Here is someone who filled their front yard with flags… maybe each one representing someone who lost their life in 9/11. Pass by that home at night and there is a flood light at ground level that casts a chilling dimension to the display.
Perhaps the resident lost someone on that fatal day. Or maybe it’s simply an expression of understanding.
And maybe that is the remaining responsibility for us… before each of these representations… understanding.