My Dad, his family, and neighbors are buried in a country cemetery in North Dakota. Trees surround it on three sides; it's open to the south.
During a windy week last summer, I mapped the cemetery. 118 graves; a handful of headstones with photos, many with Norwegian inscriptions.
Headstones tell a story, but I'm greedy. I want details. What did their voices sound like? Did they laugh quietly or could you hear it across the fields? How did they look when they were worried? Why did they choose those names for their kids?
Make a list of the things you'd like someone to remember about you. Even if (especially if) it's a small thing. Like bringing lilac branches inside in late March so you could see green leaves in April. Which hat you liked to wear at a ball game. How you grabbed a handful of carrots out of the garden on your way to the tractor. The first book that made you laugh out loud.
50 years from now, your memories will be gold.
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1 comment:
It makes me feel glad that my mom is there, too, with all the family. I like to think that they are all having coffee in Heaven, and that there is a lot of laughter.
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