Labour Day - Finally, I Return to My Family Reunion in Michigan.

eternalcarestonese
Aug 29
2 min read

When I was a kid, Labor Day weekend meant one thing: packing up the old yellow van with sleeping bags, mosquito spray, and a whole lot of snacks. We'd rumble across the border to Michigan for a weekend of camping, swimming, and digging through dusty flea markets with our American relatives. It was pure, unfiltered magic.

That was over 30 years ago. The campground is gone, and the family has scattered, but the memories—and the nostalgia—are still alive and well.

This Labor Day, my mom and I decided to make the pilgrimage. Our mission? A little soul-searching, a lot of memory-making, and a good scrubbing of some family headstones.

First, though, we had to find them. I channeled my inner detective, harassing every family member I could find and then turning my sights on a few cemeteries in Michigan. Turns out, a little polite persistence goes a long way. After a few well-placed phone calls, I finally got an email with a map of our family's resting places in Cadillac Memorial Gardens East Cemetery.

The drive felt like a blast from the past, though with a much more modern playlist. The border guard, bless his soul, seemed genuinely charmed by our strange quest. He asked "Purpose of your trip?" I reply "Going to find my family and clean their headstones," with a grin. He just grinned and looked a little moved, then waved us through, and we were on our way.

A quick stop at Bob Evans for a much-needed breakfast (because nothing says "road trip" like a plate of biscuits and gravy), and then it was time to get to work. Most of our time wasn't spent cleaning, but rather on a kind of treasure hunt—seeking out each stone, then unearthing the memories buried beneath the soil.

Literally, buried. We dug each stone from under the earth one by one recalling, story after story. The way they laughed, the way they hugged so tight, how the house was, what makes us family and more.

We dusted, washed and dried each stone. We polished the names and dates and placed the flowers.

With every stone we lifted, cleaned and watch dry. We felt a little more connected, a little more home. Although, I am not an American pieces of my heart are buried there and I'll be back each labour day to have my family reunion. I will miss uncle Johnnys hugs, aunt Grace's Shirley Temples, Aunt Pats beautiful heart and flowing hair.