Memorial Day Musings

So another Memorial Day weekend is winding down. I completed the cemetery tour Saturday. Some folks are considerate and have themselves all buried in the same general vicinity but not my folks. We are migratory even when picking a spot for eternal slumber. I visit 5 cemeteries on average and it can be eight if I can summon up the emotional energy. These are also spread out over Jasper, Lawrence, Newton and Barry counties. I called my Troll mother on the way this year to update her on my health saga and she asked if I would take her with me out to Park Cemetery as she had not made it there yet. I was most happy to pick her up and off we went. This year I enlisted the help of Beth because I am not so bendy anymore. She graciously agreed but now that she knows the routine I might be on my own again next year. You see...it doesn't just involved flopping some flowers down. There is walking, there is bending, there is pulling grass and weeds and cleaning off grass and dirt and whatever else has accumulated on the stones. There is dealing with my sadness and frustration. This is how the above picture happened. Beth can not be trusted.

My initial reaction was OMG!! Crop me out!! Then it was OMG!! I am HUGE!! You see I never see myself from behind. And WHY are my shorts ALWAYS crawling up my butt?? When I look in the mirror I never see myself as big as I really am. I think it's a lot of denial. The truth is I am a LARGE human being. Even if I were a more normal weight I would still be a large human being and you know what...that's okay. And the more I look at this picture the more I like it. Because I am walking with someone that I love and we are honoring those who should never be forgotten. I loved spending time with Neva and Beth taking care of those we care about and miss. She even said to me "look at all the pretty flowers Ermanelle." Don't worry if you don't understand...family story. It was lovely talking with her and driving her around to all our various spots. We checked on folks and talked about others who are now gone and it was all in all a wonderful time. As a side note...SHAME on whoever was supposed to mow the old pauper's cemetery this year. It is ridiculous that the grass should be waist high again. People have relatives there whom we take care of every year and we should not have to bring our own bush hog to get to the graves.

I am digressing again. Beth calls me a "keeper of lost souls". I like that. I believe with every fiber of my being that people should not be forgotten. All souls matter. If I was a millionaire every grave I saw that did not have a flower on it would have one at least once a year. It makes me said to see neglected graves. 

I love taking care of my folks but it is a bit of a melancholy task. I miss them. Grave tending reminds me of all the drama of human existence. I faithfully take care of my great-aunt Glady's grave although she died 27 years before I was born. Why you ask? Well...it was a tragic death (long story for another time) and so she wound up in the pauper's cemetery. Grandpa Clayton decided he would tend to his sister-in-law's grave because the county and her "no good husband"would not. Dad carried on the tradition and now it is left to me. I am not sure what will happen to Gladys when I am gone but I cannot dwell on the inevitable. 

I also find placing flowers on "the babies" graves very melancholy. My grandmother Barchak...God rest her soul...had 4 daughters that only lived a few minutes to an hour after birth. One is buried in one cemetery and the other 3 are at another. My mother was the only little girl that lived. It's a tragedy I cannot imagine living through but Grandma Annie was a resilient woman. I wish I had spent more time with her growing up. She died when I was 10 and I don't remember a lot about her but what I do remember feels happy. 

Visiting the babies this year made me stop to think about her life even more than I do normally. She married my grandfather in 1912. He was 38 and she was 21. She had her first child, Albert, the next year. From 1913 to 1930 she had 6 living children and lost four others. Can you imagine? And then in 1932 Grandpa Barchak died...it wasn't really his fault...but his timing was horrible. Smack dab in the middle of the depression Grandma is left in the country with no money and 6 kids to feed. Uncle Steve was not 10 yet. Mom was 5 and Uncle Mike was 2. The older boys were still teenagers. It was NOT fun for any of them but they survived. These stories and these emotions are an important part of who I am. 

I think what I am trying to articulate is that taking time out of our lives to tend the graves of our loved ones is so very important to the well-being of everyone's souls. By honoring the spots where their physical existence stopped we keep their memories alive. We honor both the beauty and the flawed nature of their souls. It connects the living with the dead.  We share memories, we spend time with those we love who are still with us and those that have moved on, we recognize the important roles they all play in our lives. I am a better person for having known each and every one of them. I am a more complete person by honoring their influence and recognizing how each of them affected my journey to becoming who I am right now. May they all rest in peace.