Jordan Stanton: A Home Where Every Day is Memorial Day

Joyce Stanton admits that some people might think she's a bit obsessive or over the top, but she doesn't think so. Her son's grave is so close to home, she says, so convenient. And she doesn't always stay long. But Memorial Day was a lot like most other days for the mother of Cpl. Jordan Stanton, United States Marine Corps.

She was there, at his grave site.

Jordan is the only native from nearly 50,000 Rancho Santa Margarita residents who has died in direct combat. His grave still gets its fair share of visitors—not including his mom—which still surprises his father.

But the holiday to remember the war dead brings out more people. It is special. And hard.

Bob and Joyce Stanton attended a Memorial Day observance in Mission Viejo on Monday at Civic Center Plaza, where their son was featured as part of an exhibit.

Then they headed to Ascension Cemetery in Lake Forest like Joyce does so often, taking the same streets that were lined with people for her son's funeral. Jordan's grandparents were there. His aunts and uncle and a cousin showed up. His friends dropped by. His namesake, too—all of 16 months born to a family friend 10 months after Jordan Robert Stanton perished in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan.

He was an assistant team leader assigned to the 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force. Stanton died March 4, 2011, while on patrol. He volunteered to take point and was killed by an IED; 10 others in his group were injured.

It was nighttime in Afghanistan, daytime in Rancho Santa Margarita. The Stantons learned of their son's death the same day.

He was 20, a couple of years removed from Trabuco Hills High, a few months shy of marrying fiancé Julie Dickson.

Joyce Stanton stands under a big shade tree not far from the grave. Watches family, friends, strangers.

"I've met a lot of really nice people," she says.

The Stanton Family bench now sits to the left of Jordan's grave. To the right and at Jordan's feet are more family plots. This is where Bob and Joyce will be buried, alongside their son.

Of all the days that Joyce is at the cemetery, March 4 remains the hardest emotionally, but it was a little more calm this year. "That's a private day that the whole world doesn't know about," she says. "Today is for everybody."

Still, Memorial Day can be difficult with so many flags poking up from the landscape of fallen soldiers, ultimate sacrifice so heavy in the air.

"Today has been hard," she admits. "The first couple of years, we were under a huge amount of stress and shock and it blended together."

The north end of the cemetery has become Joyce's second home, an extension of the Stanton house that she checks regularly. She walks the grounds and looks at different markers. She picks up trash. She shepherds the trinkets left on Jordan's grave. Could be a pair of wings from another military man, or a baseball from one of his teammates.

"I remove the things of a sentimental nature," Joyce says. "I don't want to leave anything to be taken."

Visitors leave cards and notes for Jordan or his family. Sometimes, those notes are addressed to Jordan and are sealed. Those, too, are taken home by Joyce—unopened and forever unread.

"When you spend enough time here, it gets to be normal," she says. "Today at the Mission Viejo ceremony, it was extremely hard. ... It's really great, but it's awful to be on the receiving end."

Yet she says she felt good as strangers approached her, including ones who had nothing to do with the military. It means a lot.

"People really do care and appreciate (the holiday), but it's not something where everyone can be at this level of awareness every day," she says. "You can't mull it over and over. For me, it's every day, but that's not how it is for everybody. How could we go on if every day was a litany of sad things?"

Joyce Stanton knows better than most. And she'll be back tomorrow to prove it can be done.