ChessieWriter

I woke up thinking about John. John Williamson is the Civil War soldier whose letters home to his wife form the core of my book ‘You Dream Every Night That I am Home.”

Since I wrote the book, I think about John every Memorial Day. He was 23 years old when he was killed, was only married for six months and had a baby on the way when he was sent off to fight in the war. He never got to see his daughter Matilda and his body was never recovered–he’s one of the many “not accounted for.” At best, he might be one of the unknown soldiers at Glendale National cemetery near his final battlefield.

I’ve visited Glendale many times, but I wanted to visit it again as we near Memorial Day.

As I said, I woke up thinking about John and decided to visit the cemetery sometime this week. I wanted take a photo, one that might capture the solemnity of the place, and thought that early morning or late evening light would be the best time. I remembered photos I’ve taken shortly after sunrise, when there is mist hanging over the fields and rivers around here. That would be perfect, I thought, but you can’t put in a weather order for mist because you think it would help to create a good photo op.

When I got out of bed, I went to the window and looked out through the blinds to see what the weather was like. I was shocked to see that a dense fog blurred the view out my window.

I saw this as a sign that today was the day. I quickly got dressed, grabbed my keys and was out the door just after seven. The sun was doing its best to burn through the fog in the hour it took me to get to the cemetery, but it wasn’t completely successful. There was no mist or fog in the cemetery when I got there, but there was in the field beyond it, seen here:

I wandered the small cemetery, picking up tree fallen tree branches and placing them at the base of trees, reading the names on the headstones and thinking about the men who fought and died not far from here. The cemetery, in a deeply rural area, was very quiet and still. I might not have gotten the misty shot I was hoping for, but I was still very glad that I’d come.

I was expecting to see tiny American flags at each headstone, which I’ve seen at other cemeteries. Maybe they’re placed closer to Memorial Day. But there was a wreath in the center, by the flagpole, placed by the Daughters of Union Veterans of the Civil War.

As I looked around at the headstones that are marked “unknown,” I wanted to leave my own small tribute and wished that I’d thought of it sooner. I took a bloom from one of the abundantly blooming knockout rose bushes along the driveway and placed it at one of those headstones, in tribute to John and all the unknown fallen soldiers.

The poignant poem below is found at all our national memorial cemeteries: