It Was Quiet. Dead Quiet...
It was in April, 2006, that I stood with my parents, sisters and extended family at the grave of my maternal grandmother. Earlier that day, I had conducted the service, and now I had been asked to dedicate the ground where grandmother's body would be buried.
I remember looking down the sloping hill to the corner of a nearby lake and thinking on that pleasant spring day what a great view she and my grandfather had.
I didn't realize until I looked it up that twelve and a half years had now passed since I'd last stood at that spot. I was not yet 40 then, my boys were still both in high school, I was in the third year of owning and running a newspaper business on my own.
At the time, the last thing I was thinking about was burying members of my family. Unbeknownst to me, my grandmother would be the first of the three still living grandparents to pass away. Within three years, all would be gone, my grandfather on my father's side being the last to slip away at 91. He died in October of 2009.
A couple of weeks ago, I felt the need to go back to the cemetery where my grandmother was laid to rest and enjoy the peace of the hilltop, the view, and the unseasonably nice weather. Why, I don't know. It just felt like something I should do before more time marched on.
From my home to the cemetery is about a forty-five minute drive. It sits on the east side of Sweet Home, Oregon, out beyond the main part of town. On the one side of the cemetery you can look over much of the city, on the other side there are parts of the lake with mountains in the background.
Further up the hill there are a couple of homes. Their view of the lake must be spectacular. I wonder how often they look down upon the graves from their porch. I wonder if they have anyone buried there.
For a while, I had the cemetery to myself. I started looking for my grandmother's grave. It didn't take long to know I had no idea where it was. The angle of the lake view I was looking for wasn't quite lining up with my memory, either. There were more trees than I remembered, and more land than lake.
I kept on, heading up and down the rows of markers, most of them flat, a few of them rising from the ground. A dozen or so were more festive than others, some dressed up in fall colors, while others eschewed the autumn hues for a wider variety, including reds and blues. Leftover, perhaps, from Independence Day.
There was a pumpkin, yellow, orange and brown flower petals, as well as some leaves. One site dropped all pretense and just said, "Happy Halloween!" on a mylar helium filled balloon. There was another clear balloon with LOVE on it and in between them what might be a cluster of cattails.
And, of course, there was the tribute to an Oregon State football fan, replete with a mug, a pom pom, orange flowers and a football that said, "Go Beavers."
I was still searching for my grandmother when a car came up the road and continued farther down. I kept looking, but every now and then glanced over to see what the newcomer might be doing. A solitary figure dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants got out of the vehicle, hovered over a marker for a couple of minutes, and then appeared to clean up whatever might be there.
Meanwhile, I was having little luck finding my grandmother. At one point, I thought I had, but it turned out to be an aunt who had died suddenly and quite unexpectedly at the age of 40.
I came upon my favorite decorations about then—a spinner with red petals, a glass butterfly and a beautiful arrangement of flowers with vibrant colors. It just seemed the cheeriest of all the decorations there, though I wouldn't consider any of them melancholy. These just seemed more playful.
Since the grave stones mostly had the last names engraved in large letters, I wasn't paying attention to what else they might say, until I came across one that said the deceased was merely "Gone Fishing," with a drawing of the lake they were no doubt enjoying above the announcement of their true whereabouts.
Further on, a heart shaped headstone recalled the lyrics of a favorite song on the back, a long distance dedication if you will.
The other visitor had stopped cleaning and now seemed to be putting something down. I couldn't see from my vantage point, but it wasn't long until they were just standing there, as if admiring their work, or saying their goodbye. Then, they got into their car and drove off.
I'm afraid curiosity got the best of me. I wondered what they had decided to place there that would take some time to do, but yet could not be seen from where I was. Most of the flowers and other decorations were pretty easy to pick out among the markers.
It took about a minute or so to walk down to the grave, which sat next to a small fir tree. Upon arrival, I was surprised to find things like cigarettes and beer bottles. What the heck? I wondered almost out loud. Did they just litter on the grave?!
Then I saw what else was there: a toy car, a wooden box, football paraphernalia, and other things. Then, I understood. They all represented what the loved one enjoyed in life. I put my judgment away, where it belonged.
Never Did Find Her
I walked around for several more minutes. In total, I was there for over an hour, distracted by sayings on the graves, the decorations, and the other visitor. I know my grandmother is there, somewhere. I guess I'll have to go back and look again. I just need to remember where I left her.
Or, I could ask directions.
Nah.
About This Post
All photos were taken by Glen Anthony Albrethsen using an Olympus E-3 DSLR camera and a Zuiko lens.
Note: Here's the post about the cemetery I was telling you about, 