Random Headstones...And A Way To Find Them All

 On Sunday, our family gathered at the Farmington Cemetery in Farmington, Utah. It's a place that has headstones for my father, mother, and most recently, my little and only sister. It's an incredibly beautiful place with mountains to the east and a lake to the west.

There's also many friends and family of friends with their names etched in stone.

I've visited the cemetery hundreds of times over the half century I lived in town. Unfortunately, I can no longer hope in my car (or bike or walk...) the mile or so south and pay my respects. Now it's an hour drive there and an hour drive back. 

Still worth it.

We visited the family graves...my side and my wife's. I also snapped a couple of photos of headstones for people I've never met--at least, not that I know. Each have stories upon stories behind the names and dates. Each hold incredible importance to many.

As we left, I came across the map of the cemetery with each plot identified by number (space...) and letter (section...). An invaluable tool.

I wish I could spend more time there. I'd love to be able to walk the entire cemetery, checking out all those names and dates. The place used to scare the crap out of me as a kid. Now, well...things have changed.

Give Thanks...A Place Of Honor

 We moved from Farmington last fall--we sold our house and family land...

But, we didn't sell ALL our land.

We still own--or stake claim to--a small spot of ground. It's too small to live on. In fact, we cannot live there. We can only use the land when we're no longer living. It's our burial plot in the incredibly beautiful Farmington City Cemetery. Currently, my folks are there, as are many many of my friends's parents. And, as time goes on, I have friends there, too.

It's a place of honor.

I'm glad it exists.

For many, a cemetery is literally a waste of space. I can understand why they think that. It's huge spaces that are only used for one thing. They require taxpayer money to keep them clean, mowed, and watered. As communities grow, more and more land is required for loved ones's final resting places. By many standards, it makes more sense to just cremate everyone.

But, I'm glad they exist. Part of our humanity is how we deal with death and honor those who have gone before. When I go to the cemetery, I remember my parents...two people who adopted three babies and raised them as their own. So much of what I am (and, by extension, what my wife and children are...) exist because of the people whose remains are buried in the earth just east of the upper road in Farmington, Utah. I suppose, I could have those same memories with their ashes on a mantel. 

But, setting land aside as a monument of those people...it shows a dedication of the living for the dead. It says to society the memories of those people are worth the money, the real estate value, the water for the grass that it takes to keep up a cemetery...that honor is worth it.

Yes, we still have our little plot of land, too small for even the tiniest houses, but big enough to do the job. I'm glad it's there...both the plot and the cemetery.

Names...At A Cemetery

The day was perfect in many ways. The hot weather hadn't hit yet--a wonderful day to gather, and to remember. As we assembled at our parents's gravesite, I scanned the hillside, the lawn awash with beautiful colors of soft flowers and hard stones, with an occasional American flag here and there.

I took pictures.

Here are the names I saw.

Hansen and Loynd...

Welling, Stine, Springer, and Tilley...

Brady...

And Taylor...

And many others.

In my opinion, the Farmington City Cemetery is one of the most beautiful cemeteries anywhere. I am, of course, biased.

We'll return next year...where there'll be more names added to the field.

So...I Met A Thomas Grover Descendent Today

I looked down the street, like I always do when getting in my car after church. When you park on the street, you don't want to open your car door when a car is coming toward you, even though it's a wide street. 

You know, just to be safe.

I saw a SUV pull out of the church parking lot and it turned toward me. It was coming slow, so I figured I had enough time to open the door, jump in, then close the door before the car passed.

But it didn't pass.

It stopped, and the passenger-side window was down.

I thought it was maybe a neighbor or someone who knew me. It wasn't. I didn't recognize the older couple in the car.

"Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to the Farmington Cemetery," the woman asked.

I told them, basically, they needed to turn around, follow the main road for a mile or so and they'd drive right to it. She then asked, "Is this the Old Rock Church?"

It was. She said her great-great grandfather (or great-great-great--I forget...) donated money to help build the church. I asked who was her relative and she said Thomas Grover.

I knew that name.

I remembered I had taken a picture of Thomas Grover's headstone. I used that picture for my Pic of the Day. I told her I knew where the headstone was--big with lots of writing on it. She agreed. She said the headstone had the names of all six of his wives on it (for Utah, in the nineteenth century, that wasn't that uncommon...). I told her that his headstone was next to my parents's headstone. They thanked me and we both went our ways.

As I drove home, I thought about this chance encounter. Had I not decided years ago to post a picture a day, I wouldn't have taken a picture of Thomas Grover's headstone. Had that not happened, I would have had no idea who he was when these strangers pulled up along side my van after church this morning. Life can be funny, sometimes.

Visiting Mom And Dad...

This is the weekend my siblings and I gather at the local cemetery and place flowers on the headstones of our parents. We also take a couple of pictures, one of the siblings and one of our kids, and now, their kids.

It was especially nice today. The overcast skies made for a pleasant meeting. The cemetery was full of color, tokens of love and memories. We added roses from home and mixed them with the ones already donated by my brother and sister and their families. We caught up, watched my niece's son explore the surroundings of a place he could not possibly understand, all as the stone with my parents's name etched into the stone lay on the ground before us.

The longer I live in this community, the more names I recognize. It seems each time we have our little mini family reunion, we see someone from our past, someone who knew our parents. There's probably more people in the cemetery who knew my dad than are still alive. My mom, however, that's not the case. Today we ran into a past neighbor and star athlete in high school. It was fun catching up.

After we took our pictures and promised to meet at a future date, we loaded up our van and headed home. Of my siblings, I'm the closest to my parents's final resting place. On any given week I drive past the cemetery several times, but I usually only stop and walk the several feet from where I park my car to their graves twice a year--on Memorial Day and on my mom's birthday in October. 

Our Memorial Day tradition began back when my mother was alive and only one name appeared on the stone. Decades earlier, back when plots were still available in our local cemetery, my parents bought five, two for them and one for each of their children. I have no idea what the future brings, but I'd like to think our children continue the tradition and not only visit their grandparents, but also their parents. I hope they stand together and pose for a picture and that their children will do the same.

It's amazing how time works. In the decades and perhaps, centuries that are to come, the headstones will slowly erode and eventually disappear. But on a spring day with clouds protected us from the heat and glare, a few people who owe their lives to the ones no longer with us, met and chatted and renewed the bond of family.

A Peaceful Morning With Friends...

 

This week we had two weddings and a funeral. The weddings we knew about--the funeral we didn't. As things happen, we were unable to attend the weddings, but this morning, I stood with almost no one I knew to offer support to a child who lost his mother. It was a beautiful service.

As the child set a flower on his mother's casket, it reminded me of my youth, when I, having just turned eight-years old, watched as adults, my siblings, and cousins stood beside the casket of my father on a cold day in February, over forty-three years ago.

Suddenly, I was that eight-year old kid, thinking even though I'd lost my father, he was okay. He was in a good place and I'd see him again. I still believe that--it's just having more than four decades separate the child I was then and the father and husband I am now, I look at his passing, as well as my mother's passing, differently. I realize all the things I missed, all the questions left unanswered, all the memories never made.

Thanks to a caring neighbor, my dad's name is found among other veterans at the cemetery at the memorial. I need to thank him for that act of kindness. I also stopped by the Whitaker's headstone. They were both forces of nature, and are missed.

As the sun rose in the sky and family and friends left after the service, I looked around and noticed how beautiful our home-town cemetery is. Of course, I'd like to avoid taking up permanent residency there for many many years. I mean, it's not that beautiful...

Memorial Day, 2015...At The Cemetery

My friend linked a story on Facebook today about one veteran's opinion of Memorial Day. He basically hated the way the holiday is more connected to the beginning of summer than a time to remember those who have gone before. In his opinion, he would rather people spend time in cemeteries than at the mall.

Because both my parents are gone, their children gather each Memorial Day at the local cemetery. I'm glad I read that article because it made this morning's visit even better. All my parent's kids and all but three of their grandkids were there--we even had a great-granddaughter make everyone smile.

Sure, we had a barbecue and even did a little yard work, but the hour we spent having a mini-family reunion at the Farmington Cemetery was the best part of the day. Thanks to my dad for his military service and all he did for us before he passed away. Thanks to my mother who put her husband through college and then raised three kids on her own after losing her husband. And thanks to them both for choosing me to be part of a wonderful family. 

So, Math's Your Thing...?

Over the holiday weekend my family visited our local cemetery a couple of times. There's a lot of things you can learn taking a stroll in a cemetery, especially when you're with your kids. Of course, there's a lot of things you can learn from your kids--in a cemetery or not.

I learned my youngest son has some mad math skills.

Now, I'm not saying he's Rainman. And we haven't had him tested or anything like that, but as we walked around my son noticed almost immediately just how long people had lived.

"Wow!" he'd say. "He lived for 85 years!"

I'm not noticing those dates, at least at first. I'm looking at the differences in the headstones, the choices people made like some have carvings of birds, some have representations of their hobbies be it trucking, hunting, what have you. And in my town's cemetery, there are lots of representations of LDS temples.

I would eventually look at the dates that they had lived. Apparently, that's what my son saw first. He seemed drawn to those dates and was very interested in calculating the lifespans of those laid to rest. Like I said, I'm sure he's not the greatest mathematician, but it's something he seems comfortable doing, and doing in his head. I wonder where it will take him...