Apparently not yet. On the Saturday before Memorial Day we went to decorate graves. This was probably the fifth time I have been there since Grandma died (September 2006). When we left Idaho Falls it was a halfway pleasant day in the 60s, but of course as we pull into the cemetary, the temperature dropped to the 50s, the wind started blowing and the rain started falling. Jeff and the baby stayed in the car and Mylie and I walked over to Grandma's grave. But as usual, as soon as I got there, I got choked up and my eyes welled with tears. Everyone else was there, my parents, Bailey, Ben, Grandpa and my aunts and the last thing I wanted to do was stand there bawling in front of them. So I gathered up Mylie, Darcy and Max and asked them if they wanted to go on a walk. They readily agreed and the four of lined up holding hands and started walking down the hill from the Rudd section of the cemetary to the Hammond part of the cemetary.If you are reading this and you aren't my family, they you probably don't know that in this little cemetary in Southeastern Idaho are the graves of nearly all of my family on my mom's side, including both sets of great-grandparents and great aunts and uncles. Many people don't like cemetaries or think they are creepy, I love the Parker cemetary ... I have spent so much time there, with my family and by myself.
Back to my story, Mylie, Max, Darcy and I start walking down the hill. I tell Darcy we are looking for graves that say Hammond and to be on the lookout. Very soon she spots one and the kids run there and are excited to show it to me. I tell them that this is Uncle Calvin's grave, who is Papa Hammond's brother. And then words just started flowing out of my mouth and I began to tell the kids about how Uncle Calvin was a farmer and his farm land was here in Parker and then I pointed out to them where it was and explained how his grave was here so it could overlook his farm land. And as I am telling this story, I realize that it has been a long time since I have heard that story. But somehow it comes to my mind as fresh as if I had just heard it.
We keep walking and I point out other graves and tell other stories. We get to my great grandma and grandpa Hammond's grave and I show Darcy and Max on the headstone their great-great grandpa's name was Irus Benjamin and that is who their Daddy is named after. And as we walk through the cemetary, I remember all the Memorial Days when I was a child that I would spend at the cemetary with Grandma and Aunt Rulu. They had these huge buckets, maybe 5 gallons or so, and they would fill them with flowers, often from their own gardens, and oftentimes lilacs. These would get loaded into the trunk of Grandpa's car. When we got there it wasn't just a matter of putting flowers on the graves. Grandma would scrub the headstones clean. They would have clippers and clip the grass around the graves. And as we worked, she told stories, and my mom told stories, and that is how I learned about my family history.
So as we drove away from Parker that day, Jeff, Mylie and Blake all fell asleep in the car and I had uninterruted, quiet time to think. And I thought about roots, about how I have never lived in Parker, but how when I am there, I really feel connected to who I am. About how I love that I know a lot about my ancestors, that without thinking I can rattle off the names of all my grandparent's siblings and the names of my great grandparents. So then and there, while driving past Rexburg, I promised myself that once a year I will take Mylie and Blake to the cemetary in Parker, I will walk that same path with them, I will tell them stories about people they have never met, I will teach them about my roots, because those are their roots too.
