The Geometry of Gratitude: Veterans’ Day 2025

This weekend, I went to the Massachusetts National Cemetery to volunteer for Operation Flags for Vets. Since 2011, my husband (and sometimes family) and I volunteer together, placing flags on veterans’ graves or returning to collect them after holidays. It’s a tradition we’ve honored, done with care and reverence. But this time, it was just me.

Because of the government shutdown, the event was initially canceled. Employees of the cemetery typically work on the days flags go up and down, helping to keep things running smoothly and safely. But with the shutdown, they were not permitted to perform any nonessential work. Then, without fanfare, the event was reinstated and organized entirely by volunteers. No staff or formal oversight. Just people who showed up because it mattered.

And? It was raining. Knowing veterans serve in all kinds of weather, the least we could do is a little of the same for them. The crowd was smaller than usual, but still enough to cover the grounds and the task of placing over 80,000 flags. The morning began with a short ceremony including words of thanks, honorary laying of flags for each military branch, the playing of Taps, and reminders about logistics. Volunteers were asked to return next weekend to help retrieve the tens of thousands of flags placed across the cemetery. Then we all spread out across the acres of memorials.

After stopping to visit my in-laws grave, I walked to where we always begin and picked up a bundle of flags. The instructions have always been simple: place the flag centered above the headstone, about four fingers from the top. But they also remind us (every year) not to rush. Take your time. Read the stones. Say the names.

I wasn’t twenty steps into the section before I knew something was off. The geometry of the flags usually becomes clearer and clearer as the morning progresses. Row upon row of flags, each placed carefully, centered on each headstone. The angular lines stretch across the lawn in respectful symmetry. But not this morning. The lines were broken. Out of alignment. Juggling my flags, my umbrella, and my big screwdriver for making holes, I moved closer to make sense of what I was seeing.

As I walked, I noticed flags placed in corners. Some too low. Some too far to the side. I felt my chest tighten. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I looked around to see who might be doing this, but in the rain it was hard to tell. Yelling out a reminder felt disrespectful. This event wasn’t the place for a Suzy Do-Gooder Scolding or a spectacle. And no one was close enough to share my discovery or help me make sense of it. I placed my bundle of flags back in the box and began to fix the misplaced flags. Stone by stone. Row by row. Dozens upon dozens of headstones.

At one point, I glanced up from my work to realize everyone was long gone. I was alone in that big section, judging and steaming and shaking my head while talking aloud to myself as I moved methodically through the rain. I wasn’t doing what I came to do. I was derailed by someone else’s mistake. I couldn’t let it go.

I had been working feverishly – digging new holes, shifting flags, trying to restore the lines. My hands were wet. My back ached. I hadn’t looked up in a while. When I finally stopped to catch my breath, I stood still for the first time. My eyes rested on the stone in front of me—a Navy veteran who had served his country and lived only until he was 78. The rain tapped gently on my upside-down umbrella I had set to the side. The wind quieted. And in that moment, I remembered why I was there.

I wasn’t there to correct. I was there to honor.

I began to soften. Still adjusting flags, I now read each name aloud. I thanked each Veteran for his or her service. I imagined their stories. As I started to calm my mind and focus on what was most important, grace entered my thoughts. Perhaps those flags were placed by children. Or first timers. Maybe they were just trying their best.  I knew by judging them, I wasn’t at my best. 

I had to let it go.

I couldn’t fix every flag or check every grave. There are thousands. But I could choose how I responded. I could slow down. I could be present. I could honor each name I touched with care and humility. I wasn’t doing what I set out to do by following instructions. Instead, I was responding with heart, doing exactly what the moment asked of me. And somewhere in that service, I felt my Navy dad beside me in spirit (probably muttering to himself as he straightened a crooked flag). He would have understood the shift. He would have approved.

                             My dad in 2011, our first time at Flags Down. He was 69.

Now finished and away from the headstones, I overheard fragments of conversation between volunteers standing near their vehicles. “They are so stubborn.” “They’ve lost sight of what’s important.” “We’re in such big trouble as a country.” The words hung in the air; heavy and unresolved. Truthfully, they could have come from anyone; red, blue or even purple. We aren’t as different as we like to think we are. However, every year – out among the stones, those differences blur. No one asks about politics. No one cares who voted for whom. We are just there in the rain on a Saturday morning doing something that matters. We honor those who served. Each person moves with purpose, connected not by opinion, but by gratitude.

Making my trek to the exit, past fields of flags flapping despite the rain, I paused to take photos – small glimpses of what happens when people serve together. The quiet geometry. The shared intention. The care. And in those moments, as my thoughts settled, I realized there were more reasons to feel thankful than upset. More reasons to listen than to argue. More reasons to volunteer, even when things feel broken. Gratitude doesn’t ask for perfection, only presence and a willingness to express it.

To those who have served, and to the families who carry that service in memory: thank you. Your presence, your sacrifice, and your stories shape the beauty of places like this. May you feel seen, remembered, and honored in the everyday moments where gratitude takes root.

I’ve included some links below for those who wish to learn more about Flags for Vets or the work done this weekend. 

Co-authored with Copilot, who never once complained about the rain.