Cherishing shared memories together

Well, it’s been a week since Memorial Day, and my family decided to take a trip to the Cities this past weekend to do our annual cemetery run. Each year around this time, my sister, mom, grandmother and I drive up to the Cities, Stillwater, and Bayport to visit the cemeteries of some of our relatives (of that side of the family of course. I’m pretty sure everyone else on my other side is near Waseca or at least in southern Minnesota).

When hearing “cemetery run,” I imagine that one might think of sadness, even grief, as we visit the lost members of our family and remember their stories and who they were. But I enjoy this day.

Every year, I get the privilege of being with my family to visit people they have lost, people they once loved and now remember with intimate stories and small, shared smiles. I did not have the good fortune of knowing these people, but I feel privileged that I can still help as we not only visit the gravestones, but clean them. We spend time clearng the ground, tearing the edges of the grass that have folded over the old stone, scraping at the dirt, the weeds, the ants, so that the engraved names are again what are most noticeable. If there’s a designated spot for plants, we work up the ground and plant new ones. This feels not like grief, to me, but tenderness. 

If  there’s no dirt but a spot for pots instead, we replace the old pots (if they’re still there) with the new ones, ones that we have chosen specially with colorful and blooming flowers carefully arranged in the arms of the clay. It’s our tribute. It’s my way of showing my ancestors, people whom I never met, that they are still loved by the people who survive them. There are still people who care about their lives and their legacies.

I decided long ago that I am someday going to name my child after one of these family members. I saw the name carved deep into the stone, placed many years ago under the shade of a pine tree in a cemetery I didn't know. It was a unique name and one that I wanted to make part of my future. Every year I see that name again and smile to myself, wondering what it will take to convince my future spouse to hopefully like it as well. 

As we dig and care for the new life we are planting, my sister, my mom, my grandma - we all enjoy each other's company, being grateful for the time we still have. We comment on the other gravestones we see, the other flowers that result from the efforts of other peoples’ love. Some have fake flowers, others have the classic red geraniums. Some do not have flowers. Does no one come to visit? Are their relatives dead? Do they just not like flowers? Or do they, like mine, only have a few relatives that come each year to remind themselves to enjoy life before it slips away, before we’ve all grown?

This year, we started talking about what my grandmother wishes for her plans after life. Cremated, but where? Does she want to be planted as a tree? Does she want to be in a certain cemetery? If that’s the case, then we can’t plant flowers on her ashes like we do for the stones, something I feel she would like us to be able to do. It was a lighthearted conversation, but I had a feeling it was a bit strained as well. Thinking of death is not easy, and I’m sure planning for death is incredibly difficult as well. Hopefully I won’t have to deal with it soon, and I hope that none of you have to either. 

My Determination: “Every day, every man has a choice between right and wrong, between love and hate, sometimes between life and death. And the sum of those choices becomes your life.” - Jamie Fraser, Outlander.