My family has always admired a good cemetery. I suspect my grandmother started it. I frequently accompanied her and Grandpa on Memorial Day treks as she would visit family graves and adorn them with foil-covered tins of peonies.
Grandma had Grandpa drive me past a cemetery with no family members once just to show me the tombstone with a cat on it. She said that the community had erected it as a monument to a woman who roamed the county with a cat in her arms looking for her dead children. I tried to find the cemetery after her death, but no one else in the family knew of its existence.
My paternal grandparents both died before I was 25. They were the only grandparents I ever knew so they were my favorites, and I was theirs, but like most people do with families, I took them for granted. I knew they would always be there when I got ready to visit. Always more than ready to welcome me in to their home for an hour, or a week. Always.
Sometimes always doesn't last forever.
I want you back,
Waiting for me
To step in to your lives.
How could I not have known
You would not last forever?
1 comment:
We miss you at work, Martha.
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