Flowers

Lynn and I took flowers up to the cemetery the other day. This was something that obviously, should have been done closer to Memorial Day, but with him having been sick, we had just not gotten around to it. The day before, Andrew, Baylee, and I had carefully transplanted them from the flimsy pots they came in into sturdier cemetery pots.
There are two cemeteries in town, so we stopped first at the larger one, depositing the plants on the graves of Lynn’s grandparents, two aunts who died as children, and great- great (at least) grandparents. Then we went on to the smaller of the two, putting the flowers on his parents’ grave, and some more grandparents.
In each of the cemeteries, we tend to wander around a bit. Lynn heads first toward the older section, where seemingly endless generations of his family are scattered about. He can trace his roots back about a million years, so it seems that he is related to nearly everyone in town on some level. I, on the other hand, have no relatives buried anywhere, as far as I know, and certainly not any buried in this town, in which I have resided a mere 30 some years. I am a relative newcomer. I generally start out in the newer sections, catching sight of the graves of people I knew, but had forgotten were buried where they are. This day, I came across the grave of the mother of one of my fourth graders from a few years past. She had gone to the hospital one day in May, was diagnosed with cancer a week later, and passed away in July, buried on what would have been her 39th birthday. Flowers and trinkets on the base of the headstone reminded me that her 12 year old daughter had just endured another Mother’s Day without her, and it made me sad.
Eventually I strolled into the older section, making note of names that we rarely hear these days – Homer, Erastus, Arminta, Gladys. I wonder about these people who lived in a simpler time than we do now. Maybe not better, but surely simpler, with fewer distractions.
Every year when we take care of the graves and flowers, I vow to do this more often. I realize how peaceful and pleasant it is to wander through a cemetery, making connections with past, and each time I do, it reminds me that life is really just a fleeting moment in time.