Cemeteries

I don't know why, but I am fascinated with cemeteries. I can wander around in one, reading the engravings on the stones, and concoct stories about who lies underneath. Sometimes the engraved words tell the life story of those who lie below -- sometimes the words seem to tell the story of those left behind. Somtimes the engraved words bring a tear, sometimes a laugh. Sometimes curiosity gets the best of me and I find myself wanting to know more about the person I'm standing over -- reading the words that define their life.

Now, I don't necessarily go out of my way to visit cemeteries -- unless we're in a new city and I can persuade J. to mosey through one with me. He thinks it's kind of weird and eerie. The only graves he wants to visit are his mom's and his grandparents. He also feels honor bound to visit my parents gravesites. That's why, last week, while in Alabama, I visited two cemeteries. Two quite different cemeteries.

J.'s mom and grandparents are buried in the small cemetery in the small town he was born and grew up in. He visits their graves everytime he's there. It takes all of fifteen/twenty minutes to pay a respectful visit. Drive in the cemetery. Drive to the gravesite. Walk ten steps to the grave -- and there you are. Get back in the car. Drive two minutes (or don't even bother with the car -- walk) to the next location. There you are. It's a different scenario when we visit my family's resting places.

My parents, in fact generations of my family are buried in a much larger cemetery, in the much larger city I was born and grew up in. I, unlike my husband, feel no compulsion to visit anyone's gravesite. I don't admire this about myself and wonder if I should be bringing flowers, tending the graves, planting things as J. does. Maybe I would visit more often if it didn't turn into such an ordeal each time we go.

First, you need to be sure which exit to take. If you're wrong, you could end up wending your way through parts of the city where you really, really don't want to be. That's what we did Saturday. J. doesn't think anything about driving through certain parts of the city. J. didn't grow up there. I totally freak out.

Finally, we find the cemetery (after me having an anxiety attack and swearing I'm filing for divorce) whereupon, instead of stopping at the office for a map, we proceed to spend 45 minutes driving around lost as a goose. Then we go back to square one (which would be the office), tell the people there whose graves we're looking for, and they print us out nice clear maps. Using the maps cuts our time being lost (once again) in about half.

Finding the cemetery is only the beginning of my dilemma. Once J. drags me there I don't know whose graves to visit. There are so many -- and I care about them all. And.....they are buried all over the large cemetery. I may not initially want to go, but once there I want to see everybody! J. does not. He thinks we should pay our respects to my parents, and that's it. He comes from a very small family -- three graves to visit -- and doesn't get it. Saturday, besides my mom and dad, I visited my maternal grandparents and my maiden aunt.

I looked for my uncle's wife's grave. At my dad's funeral my uncle walked me to his wife's gravesite (also his future resting place) to show me how it was just across the street from my parents. My uncle (a true penny pincher) had wanted my dad to buy the two plots behind his so they could half the price of the head stone (my uncle and his wife's dates and stuff engraved on one side, and my mom and dad's info on the other). My dad said -- no thanks. Daddy later told me that he didn't like the idea of being so close to Uncle J. for eternity -- he liked my uncle, but in small doses.

For the life of me I couldn't find my uncle's plots (he's still alive and kicking BTW). I think it was because J. was hurrying me so. But, wandering around the old section where my grandparents are buried, and the newer section where my parents are buried, and hunting for my uncle's plots, I managed to browse many headstones. That day I was struck by the simplicity of some of the epitaphs:


Mother

Our own sweet dear

My love

Navy Wife

The Family of ___ ________

Gone


I wanted to visit the Bear's grave, but J. was worn out from visiting so many of my kin and we still had to drive back to Baton Rouge. So the coach will have to wait till next time. It should be easier to find his grave because "Since his death, the gravesite has attracted so many visitors that cemetery personnel, weary of giving directions, finally painted a crimson line from the entrance gates to his Block 30 grave." I did emit a reverent "Roll Tide!" as we drove past Block 31. That should count for something.