The Cemetery

I spent half the day yesterday in a cemetery in Coalville, UT. It was boiling hot, and I felt as if I was melting as I walked up and down the rows and rows looking for particular last names.  I wish I had had a map (really-- old cemeteries should have maps! Not paper ones-- the kind they have in malls.  What I've just written does sound rather incongrous, doesn't it?! So maybe not those kind-- in stone perhaps? Something to match the atmosphere....) Anyways, I was looking for my great-aunt that I learned a few days ago had been buried there. 

I had been there only once before-- another day filled with stormy weather and flowers, but at that time, laughter was also present as the kids and my husband had come too, and we had turned it into a game of 'who can find an ancestor?'  I remember we had split up, and I had a list of names of ancestors that had been buried there.  People who I never met, but were related to me and the kids, if I went back three or more generations.  Several had traveled across the plains back in the day, some were born here.  I had bought six large mums, added ribbons, and we drove up on Memorial Weekend.  We thought it rather fun--and when we were done, we left and went out to dinner.

That was last summer.

This time was different.  This time, it was just me and a sea of grass, broken by marble, granite, and stone.

I took a dozen red roses, thinking that as I was looking for her, I could place one on my other ancestors graves too. I was given general directions to her grave-- but amidst the sea of green, I knew that I should have asked for something more precise.   My ancestors were buried together in small groups throughout the cemetery.  It was frustrating; it was daunting-- and as much as I was determined to bring flowers to my great aunt, my time was not unlimited, and a storm was rolling in.

In some ways it was again a treasure hunt. Some headstones were barely discernible-- the slow erosion of time had smoothed over many of the names.   Others-- modern, flat markers, were hidden from view as the cut grass had blown across them, concealing their presence.  I noticed that some headstones were new-- and yet the dates were very old, meaning that someone thought of these people long after they died, and didn't care to let Time have the last laugh.  The headstone of my great-great-great grandparents was one of these.  My great-great-great grandfather was a busy soul when alive-- bartender, spy, scout, and later on a justice for the peace.  I only know of him because of my great-aunt.

My great-aunt must have loved family history.  The pages I have-- charts, names, and even a few pictures-- all come from her.  When I was three she gave me the most darling footstool-- which helped me over the years get into some marvelous mischief.  She wrote me letters after I was married-- nice chatty ones.  And then one day the letters stopped...

It wasn't until I had only a few minutes left that I found her spot.  As I knelt to put the rose there, I noticed that a rose had been engraved on her headstone.   I'm glad I chose the roses.....