When I was young, every Memorial Day (which came on the 31st of May) we would pile in the car and go leave flowers at the graves of our family. The graves were in two cemeteries north of Champaign, Illinois. One near Foosland and the other near Gibson City.
My mother’s oldest brother, John, was killed in WWII. He was serving in Iwo Jima and had been injured. He was moved to a hospital in Corregidor and the hospital was bombed. They weren’t supposed to bomb hospitals. He died. He was 24 years old.
My grandparents and his siblings never recovered from his loss. I don’t think you do when it’s your child or your brother.
I was looking for my family today and found a list of people buried in the cemetery at Gibson City. And there they all are – my grandfather, my grandmother, my great-uncle, my uncle. It’s startling to see your family’s names listed in the cemetery list. For some reason, I feel like they’re still alive ………….. I’ll bet they are, somewhere …………..