Yesterday and even today social media has been full of postings regarding Memorial Day.  Many of the postings were thoughtful comments and essays about those that have served the United States...and have given up there lives protecting the freedom(s) we take for granted and at times seem so willing to give up under the guise of "national security."  Other postings were strident and angry about how this day of honor for the dead has been so commercialized to the point that for many it is only a three day weekend meant to be celebrating something that people know nothing about...or "the first day of summer."  I understand both.

Then there was some anger directed against unnecessary war and the cost of lives lost in these wars.  I understand that too.

My family has a long record of service to this country.  My ancestors fought in the War of Independence, the War of 1812, my great great great grandfather was a drummer boy for the Union in the Civil War, my Dad fought in WWI, my cousins fought in WWII as well as the Korean War, and I even have a cousin that was rumored to be a spy for the US during the Cold War.

However, my parents also taught me the idea that Memorial Day was to honor all of our dead friends and family regardless whether they had fallen during a time of war or died during a time of peace.  Memorial Day was a day spent at the cemetery mowing the grass, trimming the hedges, washing the the tombstones, and planting flowers (this was before cemetery associations).  And most importantly it was a time of quiet reflection, prayer, and remembrance of the loved one buried there.

When my sister Ruth died, my parents had bought a number of plots in a small country cemetery that was on a winding road that followed the St. Croix River.  During those first fews years, it was only my sister Ruth that was buried there and I remember my normally stoic parents with tears in their eyes as they tended to her grave.  Then as the years progressed other graves and tombstones were added alongside that of my sister...Uncle Emmet, my dad, Aunt Libby, my mom, and my cousin Milton.  There is still room for more of us when the time comes.

Yet, even as we honor the dead and those that served there is nothing wrong with making this weekend a celebration of life for there are many living memories of good things.  For instance this year was my 33rd anniversary of moving to San Francisco.  The years have flown by and as I sit here typing these words I find myself stunned at how quickly the time has gone.  I tell you...these have been 33 years of fun-filled memories as well as a fair share of sadder memories...but the total of it all is a life well lived.  So why not celebrate that too?

So yesterday the two people closest to me and I celebrated the day by honoring the past yet celebrating the moment...and we gave a nod to the future as well.  It was a day well spent.

He was neither the greatest nor the least of the loves in my life.  Yet, he remains the one lover that returns to me frequently in my dreams.  Not frequently as in nightly but a frequently that is more like "a number of times."  Maybe this is all because he was the last lover I ever had.  Against all odds we were a pair that lasted six years...maybe more or maybe less because I am not doing an exact counting.  All I am doing is remembering the good times we shared together.

In last night's dream, I dreamed that we were allowed to be together two days per week.  I was thrilled at the idea and so was he.  Now, mind you, this was a dream so whoever was making up the two day rule was not defined.

When I awoke from that dream it was to the realization that it was indeed only a dream...yet it was so real that I could feel and touch him and hear his voice.  Is it possible that he and I are communicating through our dreams...and that somewhere he woke up this morning knowing he had dreamt of me?  It would be nice to think so.

You see, as we entered into our relationship of knowing each other...I was convinced it would not last and said so to two close friends.  It was one of those times  where I went into  a situation with a lover not knowing whether it would last or not; yet, determined to enjoy it for what it was.  And I did enjoy...and he did too.  His friends would say to me "he never seems happy unless he is around you."  Another friend of his...actually his roommate...at one time said to me "he laughs so much when he is with you."

He loved to picnic!  Yes!  Rather than spend an evening or night of bar hopping he liked nothing better than to spend an afternoon at the beach or at a park enjoying natures bounty...as well as each others company.  I still chuckle and smile at the time we went to the beach at San Gregorio.  We took the treacherous trail down to the beautiful white sand beach that is there.  Many of you reading this know of this beach so when I tell you we found a comfortable beach "condo" made of pieces of driftwood and flew one of our underwear (can't remember whose) on the pole that staked the condo as being used...you know exactly what I mean.  The two of us spent an afternoon in the sun, protected from the wind off of the Northern Pacific by our "condo" smoking pot, drinking wine, eating sandwiches, and visiting with guys in the neighboring condos.  We laughed and giggled through the afternoon wanting for nothing else than each others companionship.  We were so happy together and at one point he snuggle up to me and whispered into my ear "If I were a puppy dog right now, my tail would be wagging."  My heart both smiled and melted at the same time.

Eventually the sun disappeared over the horizon and the gray evening settled in and we had to head for home...my home.  On the way home I drove with his head resting trustingly against my shoulder as he slept.  It was and is one of the fondest moments and memories of my life.

He once declared to me that "if you really love someone then that love never ever really dies."

In our time spent together we only had two major arguments and during one of them in the heat of the moment he declared "I hope you never have a lover again."  He did not know that a few years earlier, I'd already made that decision.  So I guess on both of our parts, his comment was somewhat prophetic.

The last time I talked to him was October, 2001.  He was in New Orleans at the time...his favorite city...and had called me.  During our conversation he declared that he loved me and wanted for us to spend our lives together.  At that point in time I was not sure if I wanted to continue a relationship with him although I still loved him...so my response to him was "I love you too"...for I did.  He said he would call me the following week...but never did.

I am convinced he is alive and hopefully doing well for he travels "to a beat of a different drummer."

Do I miss him at times?  Yes.

Yet...he visits me in my dreams to this day...so I like to think the love we had and have for each other is alive and well.  God speed my precious friend and lover.  I hope all is well with you.