Life Outside the Cage

Memorial Day is so much more than trips to the lake, homemade ice cream, and family celebrations. It’s a day of remembrance. A time set aside to recall all of our loved ones who have passed away and no longer infiltrate our lives on a daily basis.

My family continues to mark this holiday with the tradition of decorating graves in honor of those missing from the family table. This custom is a dying art, disappearing with the baby boomer generation. As Mom and I pulled through the metal gates of Maple Grove Cemetery, I noticed other individuals standing beside headstones adorned with flowers. Then I realized that each person was older. There were no young people participating in this ritual. It saddened me that another American custom was dissipating.

I strolled the treelined paths of this small-town cemetery. The same trail I dawdled along many years ago as flower assistant to my grandmother in her ritual of decorating family plots. Not only memories live among the marked headstones, but my family history dwells beneath the billowing trees. Behind the stone walls stand the emblems marking the lives of three great grandfathers, three great grandmothers, two grandmothers, two grandfathers, and a great aunt.

The foundation of who I am speaks to me from the etched names and dates. The wind whispers the heritage that time nor circumstance can erase. The flowers nestled in my hand remind me of the reason for this journey to visit my lineage. No longer the flower assistant, but now the one in charge of placing the blossoms to flash the message: “Someone special lies beneath this ground.”



Mom and I cleaned grave markers, repotted sprigs of colorful blossoms in urns, and secured wreaths to the ground. Laughter and tears mingled as we shared stories of our loved ones. Our day became a tribute to each life.

As long as I am living, these graves will always be decorated on Memorial Day weekend. What an amazing way to express your love.

On January 13, 1988, I became an aunt to Christopher Trent Baker. I always wanted to be an aunt. Growing up in a small family, I never had close ties to an uncle, aunt, or cousins. So when my sister had children, my desire was to be present, active, and involved.

Living in California at the time of his birth, I eagerly awaited the picture in the mail. Upon its arrival, I tore open the envelope and gazed upon my nephew’s precious face. Tears ran down my cheeks as I lifted up the beginning of many prayers on his behalf.

Spending a summer vacation with this charming and pleasant baby had me packing up the trailer and moving back to Oklahoma so that Christopher would know his Aunt Shelley.

As a teacher, the summers afforded the opportunity for Chris and me to peruse the animals at the zoo, feed the ducks at Swan Lake, and kick the ball around the yard.


My heart’s delight was found in the presence of this young man who loved Ninja Turtles, cowboy boots, snowmen, fireworks, and dill pickles.

The next few years included attending baseball games, school programs, swim practices, and band concerts. Countless hours were devoted to games of Monopoly and Risk.

God blessed me with an amazing mother. Her footprints on my life are quite visible.


As I reflect on my childhood, a plethora of endearing memories surface:

• Playing games or listening to her read stories while traveling in the car during summer vacations
  

• Discovering Christmas presents weeks after December 25 as she uncovered their forgotten hiding place

• Sipping water from the little plastic cups she kept in her purse so we could sample the fresh springs we discovered in the mountains

Remembering the teenage years brings forth images of her:

Giving me permission to complete my homework while watching Charlie’s Angels and Eight is Enough

Helping me with peer pressure by allowing me to “blame my mom” when I didn’t want to do something

• Being my greatest cheerleader at basketball and softball games

• Experiencing New York City at Christmas with the Rockefeller Tree and Rockettes
  

• Working in my classroom each August to prepare for the new school year
  

• Cruising to the Caribbean for my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary
  

Amid all the great flashes of fun and family, the resounding life lesson she taught that remains a part of me is: leave everything a little better than you found it.

This statement echoes through my mind every time I help a friend clean up after a party, clear my table at Taco Bueno, pick up a piece of trash blowing down my neighborhood street, or speak words of encouragement to others.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!! You made me better than you found me.

Something was wrong. I could tell. The person I was engaged in a conversation with stared at my left ear, then my right ear, and then began to giggle. Paranoia engulfed me. She finally, through gasps of laughter, spouted, “Did you know you have on two different earrings?” I felt each ear and started to chuckle myself. In my quickness to get dressed early in the morning for a fundraising breakfast, I had mistakenly grabbed two different ones.

We continued to laugh and she stated, “Don’t worry about it. The breakfast is for men. They either won’t notice or will think it’s the new fashion statement.” So I walked around the room, greeting attendees, with my “weird ears.”