So today is Grampa Bills birthday. He would have been 96, but we lost him just before his 90th birthday. My mom is out of town, so she asked me to go visit his grave for his birthday. I acquiesced, because its my mom, but I didnt really want to go. I remember my grandparents every day when I look at the pieces of their life I have around me. My kitchen table that used to be in their dining room, my plant stand and picture frame that Grampa hand carved, the spoons windchimes that came from their backyard. I dont need a grave to remember and love them. Theyre all here with me every day. But I went. And I took my boys. We met my uncle and his girlfriend, and we sat by Grampas plot, sharing memories and perhaps a little political debate or two. Hey, its what my uncle and I do, okay? And when we left, I decided to drive through the memorial park and take the whole place in. It was lovely. Lots of families, out on this lovely day, placing flowers on the graves of their loved ones. I understood, on some level, why visiting the final resting places of someone loved might be something that feels right. For some people. Ill still smile and say hello to my grandparents when I hear my spoon windchimes, or see the pieces of petrified wood in my backyard, or drive onto my parents property. As we were driving through the park, we drove past a memorial service in the process. Jared, who was already creeped out about being there, suggested we leave. Mom, he said, this is not okay. Were playing led Zeppelin. Honey, I said, its all right. Its Stairway to Heaven.
Posted on: Sun, 29 Jun 2014 22:50:48 +0000
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