Fort Logan National Cemetery. My parents are interred here, as well three friends and one beloved mentor. Of memory blessed be they.
Even on Memorial Day, the place maintains a hushed spirit. Row upon row of identical white headstones stand in silent military precision as far as the eye can see. There is peace here. Even the birds softly sing their lovliest songs from the trees.
I have reconciled myself with the passing of family and friends, but the last visit, I watched three aged comrade-in-arms from the Viet Nam era go unerringly from one headstone to another to honor their dead.
Headstones are for the living to remember. The dead care not.