The tradition I carry on is decorating family graves. Every Sunday, Spring through Fall, my paternal grandparents would go to the cemetery to water the plants in the huge urn on my grandmother's family plot. This was part of their Sunday drive, which I often joined. We were not alone in this. Most of the large family markers had some sort of adornment on holidays and many had fresh ones throughout the year. My mother placed flowers from her garden on her mother's grave. I remember Memorial Day most fondly; I can still smell the peonies. After my mother died my brother took my father every week until Dad was unable to get around. Today my brother and I do it. It reminds me of the Day of the Dead: as long as they're remembered they're not gone. So I remember them. It comforts me.