Remembering

N and I were driving home from church last weekend and we passed a cemetery.  I told N that, with Memorial Day coming up, I wanted to make time to go to the cemetery.  His immediate response was, "I'll keep Zoe home with me." 

I looked at him like he told me he doesn't believe in Santa.  Thus began the discussion.

Going to the cemetery wasn't something he did or even does now.  Granted I don't believe the going to the cemetery means I'm visiting the souls of my loved ones.  I truly believe I'll see some of them again.  Going there is just part of my family's tradition.  It's an annual trip that was always something I did as a child.  It's actually one of the most vivid memories I have of my grandma. 

All of my mother's side of the family is at one cemetery.  Each Memorial Day my grandma would cut down half-gallon milk containers, cover them with foil, fill them with water and some flowers from her garden.  My grandma (who never learned to drive), my mom and I would go to the cemetery and place those milk-carton vases on the headstones of my great-grandparents and an aunt that my grandma lost right after childbirth.

I can remember being in the car, driving to the cemetery and when we hit a certain point prior to entering, the stereo would be turned down and all conversation in the car would get quieter.  I'm not entirely sure why we had to be quiet in the car at the cemetery, but I do remember my grandma becoming very somber as if the grief of their loss hit her again.  Even today I can tell you where each of the headstones are, even the ones that are a plastic marker that's been covered by decades of grass. 

There's a history at the cemetery.  Each vase that we placed brought with it a story of the person it remembered.  My great-grandpa H was my favorite.  He died years before I was born, but the year of his birth and the year of my birth are exactly 100 years.  For some reason that bonded me to my unknown relative.

Cemeteries aren't a place of loss for me, even though I'm sure to cry as I remember fond memories of my family.  They are a place of remembrance.  N still thinks I'm crazy for having fond family memories that take place at a cemetery. 

It's the remembering that I love.  As I take Zoe to place flowers on my grandparent's grave, I'll tell her about the time that I played doctor with her great-grandpa.  Playing doctor is one of her FAVORITE things.  As I left the room to get something, he filled the bed pan with water.  Upon returning, he told me it needed to be emptied.  He got a lecture from a 4 year old me about pretending and not peeing in the PRETEND bed pan. 

I can still remember his uncontrollable laughter from doing that to me. 

It's one of the greatest gifts my grandma ever gave me.  She taught me, even briefly, to take time to enjoy the memory.