So I let my son wake me earlier than usual on a weekend [dulcet tones of “wake up, WAKE UP, Mom, there are CARTOOOOONS on!!”] because I need to pick up my sister and father to go to visit Mom at the cemetery. My son didn’t want to come because he says cemeteries are creepy and make him think of ghosts and skeletons. I get that. Cemeteries are creepy, I tell him, but I have to visit Grandma’s grave. He says he will visit us but he is not ready yet. We are not ready to be visited there for a really long time, I tell him. He nods and then asks to turn on cartoons. Good, I think, death and destruction before the pilgrimage to the cemetery.
Lots of people are buried in Queens and on Long Island. Very convenient if you need to pop in on two funerals on different sides of the family on the same day. We had to do that once. Very convenient, indeed.
I pick up my sister who is limping badly, even with a cane. Her husband who is NOT coming with us (he hasn’t met Mom yet) is feeling sheepish but he needs to focus on a painting. He is trying not to look like a heel by carrying my sister’s stuff to the car. He even offers to carry her cane. Ok, he IS funny.
We drive to Dad’s and set off to Long Island. Once, when I mentioned that Grandma is in Heaven, my son asked, “Heaven is on Long Island?” [ To some, yes, I guess, Heaven is on Long Island.] I stammered that her body is there but her spirit is somewhere else. Then I called for my partner because I was WAY out of my element. Kids are smarter than adults. But I digress.
Dad gives me helpful driving hints like, “is there a reason you are driving behind the slow car?” and “go straight. no, make a left. I said make a left!” and “well, I guess I told you to get off at the wrong exit.” It is really ok. My dad is going to be 89 in October, and he is in terrific shape (spit in the evil eye, a Jewish superstition).
We arrive and get a little lost in the cemetery. So many dead people. But we find Mom and our other relatives. Luckily, they haven’t moved. We three say a few prayers for all of the family members, leave stones on the graves and reminisce about Mom. My sister brings pictures of Mom through the years. It is good to have the gravestone as a focus of our thoughts. About 45 minutes into our visit, a couple stops and visits another grave nearby. After they finish their drive-by visit, the woman comes over to us to say, “we come all the time and never see anyone else here.” Gee, thanks. Very thoughtful of you to say and I don’t really notice all your ugly plastic surgery.
My sister needs to take pictures to document the occasion. No joke, these go into our family photo albums. I wish she had taken a picture of the woman with the bad face lift.
