For as long as I can remember, Memorial Day has meant going to the cemetery.
On the first warm, sunny Saturday each May, my mother would load geraniums and watering cans in the trunk, put all of her children in the car and drive to St. Bridget's cemetery in DeGraff. It didn't matter if you thought you had better things to do, when Mom said it was time to go take care of the graves you were wise to jump in the car.
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