It was a fairly long drive for so simple a task. It was approximately 360 miles from my house to Oak Hill Memorial Park in the Lynn Garden area of Kingsport, Tenn. I was there to visit the graves of my parents. My father’s headstone revealed his name as William E. Epps, Jr., and that he was born in 1927 and died in 1996. It further announced that he was a World War II veteran of the United States Navy with the rank of S1. He dropped out of high school to enlist, finishing later.
On his left was his wife, my mother. Thelma Kathleen Luster Epps was born in 1926 and passed from this life in 2003. She worked until I was born and then became a homemaker for the rest of her life. My parents were married a bit shy of 50 years and had two sons, myself and my younger brother, Robert Wayne Epps.
Cancer, specifically lung cancer that, after two surgeries and a boatload of treatment, spread to the brain, took my dad. My mom suffered for years from emphysema until, all at once, in an eight-day period, her bodily systems shut down one after another. Their lasting legacy is, so far, two sons, three grandsons and a granddaughter, and 13 grandchildren, four boys and nine girls. Another grandchild, a girl, has joined them in Heaven.
Part of the reason I periodically make this pilgrimage is to prove my mother wrong. She often said, “When I die, no one will ever visit my grave.” Sometimes, I will walk up to her marker and say, “Wrong again, Mom.” But there is a deeper, more serious reason.
One of the Commandments is to “Honor thy father and mother.” I think that, sometimes, I didn’t do nearly enough of that when they were alive. Loved them. Respected them. Tried to honor them. But, for a few years, I was in the Marine Corps and, even when I came home, I was interested in being with the girlfriend du jour. Later, I was married and building a career and raising a family. Part of that time, we lived in Colorado for a few years and much of those later years, we lived in Georgia — 360 miles away.
I wrote them, sent them photographs, and even sent newspaper clippings and sermon tapes. In fact, I mailed them something every day that the mail ran from 1981 until my Mom died in 2003. But, does honoring one’s parents end with the event of their death? I think not. And so, the journey.
I went to the cemetery and noted that the artificial flowers were out of season. So, I went to a department store and bought summer flowers. I returned to Oak Hill and threw away the old flowers and added the new. Then, I went to the car and took out two items that I had brought with me — an American flag and a flag of the United States Navy. It’s part of my ritual. Part of my efforts to honor this man, my father, who was willing to leave Hawkins County, Tennessee and to put his life on the line before he ever married or had children.
There was an older flag which was a bit weather-worn that I had placed on my last visit. I removed it, looked around, and found a neglected and bare headstone of a World War II soldier. I put that flag on his grave. I placed the new Stars and Stripes on my father’s grave, added the Navy flag, stood at attention and saluted him.
I lingered awhile and paid respects to my grandparents and a few others and then headed back to the hotel. The next morning, I drove the 360 miles back home.
Someone said to me once, “You don’t need to do that for them.” I know that. I do this for me. I do this because there is something in me that still compels me to honor them … to respect them … to say, by my presence, that I miss them still.
I will go back in the fall when it’s time to change the flowers and replace the flags. And to tell my mother that she’s wrong yet again.
[David Epps is the pastor of Christ the King Church (www.ctkcec.org.). He is the bishop of the Diocese of the Mid-South, (www.midsouthdiocese.org) which consists of Georgia and Tennessee and is the associate endorser for his denomination’s military chaplains. He may be contacted at frepps@ctkcec.org.]
