Memories and updates

I laid a rose, pale pink like I received for my graduation bouquet, on each grave. They lay side by side in Springdale Cemetery, deep within the grounds near the mausoleum. I had carefully parked my car in the curve of the road, and made my way down the icy hill. I walked right to the graves, only glancing at one wrong marker before finding the one I wanted to visit. Kicking snow off of her side, I knelt in front of the marker and brushed snow, dirt and grass off with a napkin and my bare hands. Then I started to talk, opening my laptop and adjusting it so there wasn't excessive glare on the screen.

Hi. I never know quite what to say when I come here, so I wrote something before I drove over. I thought I could read it to you.

I know I haven’t been here for awhile. It’s sad – missing you, feeling guilty for not thinking of you as often as I once did, moving on without you. I think about you often lately as I watch Mom and Dad play with the little one. Remembering how I would call – yours was the first number I learned. Do you remember? How I’d ask if I could come and play? One of you would always come get me. And I’d bask in the warmth that was always at your house, not understanding that someday it would be gone.

I finished my PhD. Daddy got me the flowers like the ones I brought you. I still don’t have a real job though. I’m doing another bit of training to try to figure out what I want to do. I’m living near [youngest of 2 cousins name], so I went south. Not quite to Florida where you guys went when Mom and Aunt were little, but farther south than here. It’s not so cold there.

I bought a house too. Dad really likes it – he picked it out from the 8 that we looked at. It’s light brick, like Mom and Dad’s, like yours was. I have your pictures up in the hall – the ones taken right around the time you were married. You were both so beautiful then. I keep another picture on my desk at work. Brother was little, so I must have been 5 or so. Grandpa sat on a lawn chair in the back yard and you were leaning over his shoulder, Grandma. I sat on his lap, smiling prettily, but Brother was trying to get down so he could run around.

We’re still like that – I’m content to sit and think, maybe write something on my computer. Remember the little red notebook I’d write stories in? You always read them – told me what I good writer I was. I think I still wanted to write when I was in high school. I decided to go into science instead, but I’m sure you know that. You’ve been watching, right? Brother is always busy - with work, friends, family - always eager to get somewhere else, never content to be still.

We’re doing well. Dad’s seeing doctors after his heart attack, but he’s 5 years out from the angioplasty and doing well. Mom’s knees are bothering her and she still works too hard. She misses you a lot – it broke my heart the first time she called herself an orphan, but I guess it’s true. She still needed you, but she knew you had to go away. I try to listen and support her, but sometimes I don’t do enough. I’m sorry about that.

Aunt sold the house you arranged for her to buy all those years ago, Grandpa. They loved that house, and Uncle didn’t want to move. But they’re getting older too, and wanted a house with less steps. I’m going to help them move in tomorrow, and the girls will bring their husbands and babies for Christmas. William’s named after you, Grandpa. We all still miss you so much.

I put up your Christmas decorations in my new house. Mr. and Mrs. Santa are on my mantle, and that little church you painted for me is at the entrance to my dining room. I put up your china in my kitchen too – the dishes with the wheat pattern and little blue bows. Mom and Aunt say you’d be pleased that they’re being displayed, Grandma. It's my favorite part of the house - it reminds me of you, and some of the things I hope to pass on to my children, should I ever have them.

And I still read – all the time. Remember how you’d keep books for me in the hall closet? I have shelves in most rooms, and other containers in the rest of the house – all holding books. We read to the little one too.

We still go to your church, Grandma. It reminds me of you in a warm way. I watch some of the old ladies and think about the tiffs you’d sometimes have with them. I get that same pinched look in my face when someone irritates me. Oh and I still use the trick when you tell someone to go to hell but smile the whole time so they don’t know you’re serious. I’m always serious.

Brother is having some problems. He has an adorable little girl – she’s walking and starting to talk. She waits until she’s ready to do things though – you can see her thinking about words before she opens her mouth. He married a twit. I never have liked her – she’s one of those useless fluttery girls. Not like us at all. She’s pretty, I guess, but the little one looks like us. Dark hair and her eyes are still getting darker. They’ll be the same deep brown yours were soon, Grandma. The same as Mom's and mine and Brother's. The twit says she’s leaving Brother, and I personally think that’d be for the best. But the thought of losing the little one is breaking Mom’s heart. So that’s hard right now.

Selfishly, I wish you were here to cuddle all of us, and assure us that we’ll all be fine. I always believed it when you said it. I’m trying to accept it now, but I’m not sure I do. I don’t have the perspective you did – watching family members get married and altering the dynamic we have going. Knowing that things change but the core of what we have remains strong and resilient.

I remember you though. How much you loved us and took care of us. How proud you’d be of everything we’ve done, just because we did it. I’m sure you’d worry over us, pulling us close and patting our backs, offering comfort and support because we’re yours. We’ll be OK – we all had wonderful examples of how to build and care for a family in you. And I’m glad you’re together – I know you missed him after he was gone, Grandma. That you were ready to rest too – moving on to be with God and Grandpa. I do miss you, and I love you so so much.

I hope you’re celebrating up there – the joy of having more of our attention than usual for the holiday season, hoping that we take care of each other a little more and laugh a little harder than usual. I love you.

The leaves on the pink rose over Grandpa’s name flutter in the slight breeze. I cleared the snow off of Grandma’s side and sit, nearly numb, as I read from the screen of my laptop to them. I’m crying – watching the tears drip off my face and onto my coat. The United States Air Corps emblem is clean, and the pink roses I left mirror the ones in the center of the marker that surround the words together forever. And as they are, my family is as well – all connected with memories and blood. United in our desire to remember these 2 amazing people from whom we’ve come. But it’s nice to sit here alone – cold, but peaceful. But it’s time to go.

I pressed kisses to fingers that had gone numb from the cold and then touched both names on the bronze gravestone. Then I carefully found a path up the hill to my car, started it and waited for it to warm up, gazing back on the resting places of 2 people who were dearest to me in my childhood. I look down at the ring that encircles the middle finger of my right hand – the only ring I wear and one I never remove. It was Grandma’s engagement ring and serves as a reminder of the greatness from which I came. The love, the warmth, the dreams, and now the tears as I continue to grieve for Grandpa after 20 years, and for Grandma after 9.

God, bless all of us, I think, as I pull away and weave my way through the cemetery toward the exit. Let things work out and allow us to enjoy our blessings and forget about our troubles for awhile. Grandma and Grandpa would have liked that.