Tuesday, January 24, 2006
the only thing
Today is the funeral for my great aunt and uncle. They will be buried in a small town cemetary near many of my other relatives and ancestors: grandparents, great-grandparents, generations before. . . my brother. . . all together.
I have not been there since my grandfather died in 1998.
Thinking of that place always reminds me of something my grandfather said many, many years ago.
I was visiting Iowa over the summer, during a break between college semesters. One afternoon, my parents, my sister, my grandfather, and myself climbed into grandfather's big Oldsmobile (he was an Olds man) and drove the short distance to the cemetary. It was our not quite annual but as often as we could get there trip to visit the graves of our departed family members.
When we arrived, my grandfather became excited. He said there was something he couldn't wait to show us. We parked the car and walked a short distance. There before us, with my grandfather pointing and beaming with pride, was a large headstone. The headstone had both his and my grandmother's name inscribed. The only information missing was the date of death. He was very proud of it.
I remember my mother was aghast. I remember the whole scene as being morbid in a darkly comic way.
My grandfather explained in his matter of fact practical common sense tone, "Well, it's the only thing I've ever bought that I know for sure I'm gonna need some day."
Yep.
|
I have not been there since my grandfather died in 1998.
Thinking of that place always reminds me of something my grandfather said many, many years ago.
I was visiting Iowa over the summer, during a break between college semesters. One afternoon, my parents, my sister, my grandfather, and myself climbed into grandfather's big Oldsmobile (he was an Olds man) and drove the short distance to the cemetary. It was our not quite annual but as often as we could get there trip to visit the graves of our departed family members.
When we arrived, my grandfather became excited. He said there was something he couldn't wait to show us. We parked the car and walked a short distance. There before us, with my grandfather pointing and beaming with pride, was a large headstone. The headstone had both his and my grandmother's name inscribed. The only information missing was the date of death. He was very proud of it.
I remember my mother was aghast. I remember the whole scene as being morbid in a darkly comic way.
My grandfather explained in his matter of fact practical common sense tone, "Well, it's the only thing I've ever bought that I know for sure I'm gonna need some day."
Yep.
|
Comments:
Post a Comment
