Saturday was the annual placing of the flags on the veterans' graves at Saint Michaels Catholic Cemetery. I took over this task when Dorothy Bloom was no longer able to do so. I have enjoyed it immensely for many years, and when Cubby was old enough to walk, I started taking her with me.
The first year she went, she was mostly interested in the dandelions that were popping up and not really much help. The next year she could say 'Merica and jab the flag into the air. At that stage, she talked nonstop but no one could really understand what she was saying except for about every tenth word. When I stopped to say hi to Captain's dad at his grave, Cubby watched intently and then stood there "speaking" to him, and she ended with a loud and proud 'Merica....Amen!
Last year when I took her, she wanted to know the stories on the headstones. When we found some that were Irish immigrants, we had a whole discussion about why people came here from someplace else. She got a short--very short--history lesson the Great Potato Famine of Ireland that year. When we came to headstones that were for babies, her big brown eyes would tear up and she'd say "Gramma, that's so sad." Yes, baby girl, that is sad.
So this year when we got there, before we got out of the car, Cubby asked why we put flags out. So this year she got a lesson about respect and gratitude for those who served whether in peace time or in conflict. I think she understood it.
This was one conflict I had with my mom. Dad was in the army in the mid to late 50s. He didn't see combat, but he damaged his hearing beyond repair firing Howitzer cannons. Even so, Mom would insist that Dad was not a veteran because he didn't see combat. So I had to add a blurb to my history lesson with Cubby that veterans didn't HAVE to have been in a war to be respected; they just had to have served. I'm not sure she understood that, and I guess if she doesn't understand war, I'm okay with that right now.
The other mission I had while at the cemetery, beyond putting the flags up, was to get the name, birth date, and death date of the veteran whose headstone makes me so sad because it seems lonely and neglected.
There was moss growing over the name engraved on the small limestone headstone, but there was a larger, newer family monument next to it that clearly showed the last name to be Melian, immigrants from County Armagh, Ireland.
I was excited to go home and start a genealogical search for this family so I could...I don't know what, but I was going to search.
I found the headstone on FindAGrave.com. His name was Michael Melian, and he had been a private in the Civil War with Company G of the 14th Vermont Infantry. He was born in 1833 in Armagh, Ireland, and died in rural Pine Island in 1875. So he made it through the Civil War intact.
I would be very interested to know how he went from fighting with a Vermont company of soldiers and then ending up in rural Pine Island, Minnesota, ten years later.
I tried to track him back in Ireland to see if I could unearth any other relatives who immigrated that might have information on any of the genealogical sites I frequent, but no; nothing. I couldn't even find his name or his wife's name--Sarah Melian--on any ship's passenger list when searching the National Archives online catalog. They had to have come on a ship if they came from Ireland, but I haven't found a record of it yet.
However, in further searching, I discovered that Michael and Sarah had one daughter, Anna, born in 1871, who married a John Fitzgerald, and they had three children.
Agnes Margaret Melian was born in 1895, married Frank Lemmon Graham and passed away in 1981 without any children.
Inez Mary Melian was born in 1898 but only lived a year. To quote Cubby, that's so sad.
Edward Michael Melian was born in 1904, was married, and went on to have a distinguished medical career before passing away in 1983 without any children, although his obituary did mention two nieces. However, I'm guessing those were from his wife's side of the family.
Now I know why this particular headstone is lonely and neglected. There are no surviving heirs to take care of it. I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.
I do know that it makes me want to take flowers to Michael and Sarah's graves just so someone pays their respects.
Call me weird.
