**Songs of Eternity**

I have a confession to make, and since this is a safe place and I have no fear of being judged, I’ll confess here: I love cemeteries. Not that I have a fixation with death; I don’t fear it or dread it, but I think when it comes I’ll just welcome it like an old friend.  Common sense tells me that I have more years behind me than ahead of me. I know what awaits me, and I have so many investments in heaven: both of my parents, my grandparents, my  sister Dee, beloved relatives and friends, and my own two babies….

I have always loved the extraordinary peace and serenity found in a cemetery, and I love the history. I can roam literally for hours, reading headstones and imagining what the lives were like for those underneath those stones. Chuck and I have already made our own funeral arrangements, and have purchased and placed our headstone in a beautiful, remote cemetery not far from here.  Most people think it must be strange to drive by and see your own name and birthdate on a headstone, but it doesn’t bother me at all; in fact, it makes me smile, like a little secret between me and God. I love my life here, and want to live out all the years that He has allotted to me, but when He’s ready, so am I.

This love of cemeteries must be genetic, because Summer and Sissy share this same love with me. And that is how yesterday found us spending the afternoon wandering through three different cemeteries in three different towns, leaving flowers for those that we love.

Sissy and I had already made the one hour drive on Mother’s Day, to put flowers on our mom’s grave; Chuck’s parents are buried in the same cemetery, so we decorated my mother in law’s grave as well. Yesterday, Summer and Sissy and I took flowers to Chuck’s dad, both his grandparents, my grandparents, my mom’s infant twin brothers, and our beloved Aunt Katherine.

Now, I know there are only decaying bones underneath those headstones; I realize that we came from dust, and our bodies return to dust. I know the person that we loved isn’t really there in that cemetery, but in Paradise where there is no death. But leaving the flowers is just a way to honor their memory, and so we make this occasional journey to affirm that we haven’t forgotten them.

The air was heavy as we stopped at the first cemetery to place a "Hero" wreath on my father in law’s grave, and a cross of pink flowers on his mother’s grave beside him. She died long ago, and I never had the chance to meet her, but my husband adored his grandmother, and she and Emmi share the same middle name.  The  thunder was rumbling as we drove past my parents’ grave, and  blew kisses to them.

(This is previous picture of Summer and my mom, 2010)

By the time we drove to the next town, there was a gentle spring rain falling. We left a sleeping Emmi in the car as we backtracked, looking for Aunt Katherine, my mother’s only sister.  Sissy finally located her headstone near the church, and we left her a beautiful wreath. She was a nurse too, and she loved us dearly.

Several miles away, we came to the final cemetery where my mother’s parents and her twin brothers are buried. Sissy scooped out the faded and disintegrating flowers from the vase, and I replaced them with the beautiful silk hydrangeas we had brought. Sissy had bought a little angel, and we placed that on our grandmother’s stone. Their twin babies are buried next to them; they only lived for a few hours and weren’t even named. That always hurts the mother’s heart within me. We had brought blue morning glories for them.

(Sissy and Summer, with our grandparents; small stone next to them is their twin baby boys.)

In the same place, several yards away is Chuck’s Grandpa Bob. Once again, I never met him but he was much-beloved by my husband. I think he loved Chuck unconditionally, and offered stability in his troubled and often chaotic world. I don’t even have a picture of him; all I have is his antique bed upstairs in my guest room. I don’t know what he looks like, but I think I will know him when we finally meet in eternity. I want to hug him, and thank him for loving a little boy who grew up troubled and afraid; he would be so proud of the man that my husband is today.

(Summer with her great-grandfather)

We drove back home through the lightning and the pouring rain of a thunderstorm, mostly quiet but not sad. Thoughtful, perhaps, and just glad that we are able to honor these people that we love.  I hold on tight to the memories that I have, and look forward to the times to come when we are together again, in that place where time has no meaning.

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or: #800080″>One last picture…… naptime at Nini’s house…….