On Memorial Day, I drove to Boulder City to visit my dad. He's buried at the Veterans Cemetery. He did not die in the service of his country, but his time as a Marine in World War II left an indelible mark.
I arrived not long before the memorial service in the chapel. I got there just in time to hear the bagpipers practicing. I listened to a hymn—I could not remember its name—as I sat with Dad and looked at the sea of flags around me. Every grave, without exception, was marked.
I left Dad for a while to visit the memorial plaza, where the breeze gracefully helped the flags to fly proudly.
Honor guards of all kinds, from every branch, retired and active duty, gathered around the chapel for the service.
And some paid tribute quietly alone.
All pictures by Terrisa Meeks