Kim's Horizon

Today is Memorial Day. It used to be a day I looked forward to – picnics, friends & family, fireworks… so much fun. I know, Memorial Day is meant to be a day where we remember our nation’s soldiers who gave their lives protecting our country and our freedom. I knew that and I’ve always been grateful, but I admit that I allowed the festivities to overtake the intent of the day.

Fast forward to 2016. I got a call in early May from my father, who had just called an ambulance because he was struggling to breathe and he couldn’t get up. I got on the first plane out of Los Angeles to the East Coast. Upon arrival, I learned that he was about 2 miles outside the limit of the VA’s free transportation to their medical center (that’s a story for another day). Unable to drive himself and not wanting to burden anyone, Dad cut his meds in half to make them last longer. And that began his slow demise.

I stayed in that hospital around the clock for two weeks, holding his hand from my little reclining chair, watching him die… still unable to accept the fact that he was dying. We spent his 69th birthday in the ICU – just me, him, the nurses, and the very nice volunteer who spent an hour a day playing his guitar in the ICU for patients. A few days later he was moved to a palliative care room and a few days after that, he was gone. It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend.

I spent that weekend cleaning out the room he rented in a quiet residential home. His 69 years of life came down to a ton of clothing he rarely wore, some kitchen towels and gadgets, oodles of computer accessories, software, and books. But the room was also riddled with trash and I couldn’t stop crying, realizing that he was doing so poorly health-wise that he couldn’t keep things clean.

Why didn’t he call me? I would have come to clean, to drive him to the VA, to cook his favorite meals. I had let so much time go by without a visit and it was too late.

Making Arrangements

Dad served in the United States Army during the Vietnam War, though he was not stationed in Vietnam. He had not left a will or any instructions beyond “arrange for cremation and don’t spend alot of money on it.” But I remembered back to my Pop-Pop’s passing in 1998 and how happy Dad was when I arranged a military funeral for his father with a bugler and 21-gun salute. So I called Arlington National Cemetery and made arrangements for an inurnment. They were backlogged and scheduled us for Memorial Day Weekend 2017.

I’ll spare you the awful details of dealing with the worst mortuary on the planet, but I do advise that you work with a slightly higher end crematorium so that you and your loved one receive the proper attention and respect during a very painful time. I learned the hard way that you don’t skimp on this.

Memorial Day Weekend 2017

His remains were eventually shipped to me in Los Angeles and I kept them on my mantle above the fireplace, staring at them solemnly every day, full of tears and regret. As Memorial Day 2017 approached, I wrapped the mahogany box of his remains in a small blanket and placed it in a canvas bag with an American flag on both sides. Then I packed my best black suit, several black dresses, and headed to the airport to take Dad home.

TSA at LAX is not known for being friendly. More than once I had been pulled “randomly” into a special line for a rough patdown or had my luggage rummaged. But this day was the worst. They had unwrapped Dad’s mahogany box and his ashes were leaking all over the conveyor belt.

Grabbing all of my belongings, a TSA agent motioned for me to follow them to a small table in the back and demanded to know the contents of the box, which looked as if it had been dropped or banged against something. I explained that I was carrying my father, a US Army Veteran, back home to be inurned at Arlington National Cemetery. Not understanding, they asked what was leaking from the box. In tears, I explained that the box was leaking my father’s remains after they had damaged the box and the agent almost dropped it, exclaiming “Yuck, gross!” Choking back sobs, I asked for a supervisor and although there was no apology they finally let me take my father and my belongings to be on my way.

Arlington National Cemetery

Thankfully, the experience at Arlington National Cemetery was a total 180. Our funeral director was so thoughtful and kind. We had a beautiful private room to greet family and friends, to share our sorrow and stories together.

Beside the Columbarium, my father was given the military honors I knew he wanted. First, the 21-gun salute. Then a bugler played Taps. And then volunteers in full dress uniform carefully folded a flag and presented it to me. Several Arlington Ladies were present, and they gave me a condolence cared followed by some much-needed hugs and gentle, heartfelt words of consolation.

Arlington National Cemetery is visually stunning, particularly on Memorial Day. Should you ever visit Washington, DC, I hope you will visit. Volunteers place a flag on every grave in advance of the weekend. It almost takes your breath away.

Solemn Remembrance

When I returned to LA, I kept looking at that spot on the mantle where my father’s remains were no longer resting. Somehow I felt that emptiness and loss all over again. Eventually I bought a special display case for the flag, and we bought a home in 2020, so I no longer stare at that spot.

It’s been 8 years and I haven’t yet gone home to visit his Columbarium. Whenever I think of him, tears flow freely as if I just lost him. What I wouldn’t give to have one last conversation with my Dad.

Every May, I avoid my Facebook memories because I know that I documented those final days with Dad and I just can’t face it. This year, I glanced at them a few times and it dawned on me that I’ve been sick every May since Dad passed. I’ve stayed home every Memorial Day with a cold or some other illness, not partaking in picnics, BBQs, or fireworks. And I realize now that this is a mental block I need to overcome.

Memorial Day 2024

We’ve called a few family members to tell them we love them and made plans to get together. Tonight my amazing husband will take us out to dinner. As a family, we’ll sit on the living room floor and play games, ignoring the sound of fireworks in the distance. And hopefully next year, I’ll pull myself together to host a BBQ or take the kids to Knotts Berry Farm for fireworks.

May is a sad month for me and it’s been really draining, grieving all month. This year I couldn’t even bring myself to post my annual birthday tribute for Dad. But I did reach out to a couple of his Army buddies to thank them for being there for me when I lost him.

I feel as though there should be a very special ending to this story. I suppose the best I have is a little moral. Please, please, please don’t put off visiting the people you love. You never know when God will call them home. Let’s stop catching up with family and friends at funerals and instead thoughtfully create frequent opportunities to get together and celebrate life.

Until we meet again…

I love you, Daddy. Someday, I’ll see you again. Until then, I’ll have a beer for you every Memorial Day. I’ll raise my beautiful children with the love, respect, and ethics you taught me. I’ll prioritize family. I’ll serve my community. I’ll get this passive income source going and travel the world.

❤️ Big hugs, lots of love, and CHEERS! 🍻