Memorial Day is…

Angela Guiao
MSMU Class of 2021

(5/2021) Growing up, there was this story my mom loved to tell me. And yes, I’ve heard it multiple times. When I was younger, I had to attend CCD (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine) classes at a local church so that I could participate in my First Communion ceremony. The church so happened to be called the church of St. Jude, and since we lived nearby, it was the church my mom usually attended. My mom is a very religious person. Whenever she had a problem or couldn’t make a decision, she would go to church and pray. She strongly believed in asking the saints for help. I distinctly remember having lost my mermaid Barbie when I was a kid, and her telling me to pray to St. Anthony in order to find it. St. Anthony is the Patron Saint of Lost Things.

She often made remarks like this. She’d tell me to pray to God or one of the saints whenever I felt worried or sad. Praying brought her immense comfort. But there is one thing that she said she was scared of praying for again. And that is where her story begins.

Now this may be too much information, but my mom got married very late in her life. She spent most of her twenties and thirties single. Now, she wasn’t much of a partier, or a drinker, or a smoker, or an extrovert at all really, for that matter. She was a prayer.

One day, on the way to church, we passed this graveyard in the middle of Arlington, Virginia. This particular graveyard always caught my eye when I was younger, because at first glance, it looked like an army of identical, white marble headstones. It was quite jarring, the sight of hundreds of gravestones lined up one after another. It was unlike any other graveyard I’d ever seen.

One time, I asked my mom why there were so many headstones. And why they all looked the same. This graveyard wasn’t particularly scary. It was dignified in a solemn way. Anyways, he said that it was because soldiers were buried there.

She told me how when she first came to America, she also was fascinated by the graveyard. She was born in the 60’s, during the Vietnam war, but had only heard about the things that were going on. She also wasn’t very exposed in the Philippines to anything war related and had rarely ever seen any soldiers in her small town. When she came to America and saw the sheer number of soldiers who have died, she did the one thing that made her feel better. She prayed. She prayed specifically to St. Jude, the patron saint of Lost Souls.

Her story goes that she would pray for the lost souls of the soldiers who were buried but not identified. After learning about the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, a memorial built for all the unidentified soldiers who had died during the Civil War, she believed that she should pray for those souls to find their peace. As a result, she began to have these terrifying dreams. She said that random men who she had never seen before would appear in her dreams asking her for directions. Some of the men were missing their arms, others their legs. But they all appeared to be lost. After dreaming about a man who was missing his head, she decided that instead she would light a candle for all the lost souls each Memorial Day.

Now, that memory has been buried far in the back of my brain for a while now. This is because I do not have a deep connection to the military. I was not raised in a military family, and I don’t know very many people who have joined the military.

For me, Memorial Day meant summer. It meant pools opening, and discounts at my favorite stores. It meant a long weekend, usually with barbeque, and probably a trip to the beach. If I am being very honest with you, I wasn’t even sure what exactly Memorial Day was a celebration for until I searched it up a few minutes before writing this very article.

Writing this article has made me painfully aware. I’ve realized how easy it is to forget. I wonder how many people pray for the lost souls of the war or how many unidentified soldiers there are. I wonder how many people, like me, don’t know what Memorial Day is a celebration of, but continue to celebrate it anyway.

Now, in no way am I saying people should stop celebrating and stop being joyous and patriotic and proud. I believe we should do all those things because that it what our soldiers fought for: our freedom, our happiness, our opportunities to live our life the way we choose.

What I am saying is that perhaps we can do a little better. Perhaps we can find more ways to remember the fallen soldiers. Perhaps we can educate a little bit more, whether it be through our word of mouth, or through a small article like this.

Memorial Day is celebrated on the last Monday of May each year. It was once called Decoration Day because it was celebrated by decorating the graves of the soldiers who had died. While originally, Memorial Day was dedicated to honoring those who had died during the Civil War, it eventually evolved and became the day that all soldiers who had died in all wars were remembered and revered.

For me, I think I want to carry on the tradition my mother started. While I look back and find her story somewhat silly, it does make me wonder how many soldiers have died without anyone left to remember who they were. Memorial Day is so much more than just a day to celebrate with your family, it is also a day for understanding loss. It is a day of respect, of dignity, and of honor. And because of this, from now on, every Memorial Day, I will light a candle and pray to St. Jude.

Read other articles by Angela Tongohan