Family Reunion

Blogging about death and dying isn't one of those topics I read of very often. Believe me, there are lots of Blogs out there in cyberspace and I know because when I am at loose ends I read them! They are just random, sporadic 'view next blog' types of glances, but it has given me insights from total strangers that have been interesting if not strange. Myriads of women and men are apparently caught up in a frenzy of cooking ideas, and if Blogs are any indicator of recipe book sales, that should be my next line of work!

However , I am going to enter my scribblings into the pool of comments on death and see if I can sort my thoughts out.

Having returned from a couple of trips this summer, combined with having nobody to talk to about all of the details, has left me restless and somewhat agitated. I like to think things through by saying them out loud, as in talking to a friend , rather than just keep everything upstairs in my head. My head can be a dangerous place to live, although visitng it from time to time seems to be safe.

While in Ithaca, my hometown and recent vacation spot, I needed to visit a place that was dear to my heart.
The Cemetery.
The place where many of my late family members were buried.
To be more precise , Quick Cemetery, Brooktondale, NY, USA. 14817

I have been recently considering buying a plot of land there in order to facilitate the task of where the kids need to put me when I die. Although placing my ashes in a lovely urn and keeping them on rotating mantles might appeal to some, it has never been something I can visualize my kids doing. With my luck, I would end up scattered in some creek somewhere during a camping trip.  Don't be offended if this is your own personal choice, but for me, saving the children stress during a stress-filled life experience could possible be my final act of maternal love.

After eating a lovely lunch on a blanket outside of the old Brooktondale store, we climbed in the van and proceeeded to the Cemetery Grammy wanted to show the family. I was going down an odd sort of memory lane, so to speak. My daughter did not appear to be convinced of the value of my choice, but I wanted to explain how connected I was to the town cemetery, and sometimes words just cannot speak of such things.

First timers to this town cemetery usually speak of the peaceful quality and silent surroundings. It sits on top of a hill above the Six Mile Creek, and there are pastures all around it. Commercialism is at a minimum, no ads, or signposts and very few plastic flowers adorn the headstones. Some families carefully tend to their tombstones, and fresh flowers or planted annuals are lovingly groomed as the summer months pass into autumn.

Searching each visit for the family headstones becomes like a hunt- I never can quite remember where my family lies, just that they are somewhere on this hill. My dad died in 2001 and I know there is a headstone for he and my mom, who is still living in Tennessee. It was purchased near the overlook to the creek and is under some trees. Mom's desire is to be buried together with dad some day, and this place is where I can come and my memories will be safe to be remembered. Do we take time to visit the safe places anymore?

                                 The great grands find it and check out the stonework and details.

On the other side of the knoll I see a tombstone, it was where my maternal grandparents were laid to rest:

and over there....an uncle, an aunt, a great uncle, a great aunt, a neighbor, a family friend, parents of my uncle, my mom's cousin....each tombstone brought back a flash of memory, a tiny snapshot in my mind emerging from the rubble of time and giving me the gift of heritage.

Earlier this summer an old friend from Brooktondale died, and the sad news spread through this small town rapidly, Brooktondale being enough of a distance from Ithaca to have a strong sense of Community.  Everyone knew everyone, and Paul was the age of my younger sisters and also was the young brother of my best friend in grammar school. As an adult I knew him only slightly and had vague memories of a friendly boy with blond hair, a gentle nature and a huge smile that smacked of a mischievous nature lurking underneath. It occurred to me as I went wandering around the little graveyard paths, that maybe his grave was already designated, since I knew his relatives were also buried here. Sure enough, a new section of the cemetery had been opened and a bright spot lay in an open field next to the shadows of the main, older cemetery. Immediately a verse from Psalm 23 in the Bible pops into my head~" Yay, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for You are with me."

Walking through the cemetery on this hot summer day was like walking among family and friends,~ a reunion of sorts. It was forcing myself to pause in the business of living and reflect on life.  These people were vital and strong, had children and grandchildren, laughed at bad jokes and cried over sentimental movies. Some had cancer and others had heart disease and nosebleeds and skinned knees. They aren't just gray, stone graves, they are valuable parts of my life, even if for a short moment in time! I speak purposefully in the present tense because anyone who I know I tend to love forever, longing to love them into eternity.

It appeared as if I were related to the entire hill of families! I was popular  and present in this place! Tears were close to the surface as I tried to explain who was who and how my family knew that family over there with a bench ....

How could I not think this a place of importance as I creep into my 60's with aches and pains and generations dying and leaving me on the precipice? It isn't a precipice of fear, but of eternity and I am certainly ready for the rest of it to continue on, but really...am I ready?

Do I impact people in such a way that when they wander through this Cemetery in a few years and see Susan Lee Garcia Ribeiro on a headstone, they will pause for just a minute? Will they laugh at my love for birds, or my sentimentality, or will they be reminded of something I did or said that helped them enjoy this world?  Will they be certain of how much I loved God and them individually?? These thoughts rumble around like thunder on s hot summer day, causing me to long for the refreshing sense of certainty that I am not being frivolous with time.

Have I  properly recalled the memories of lives past to influence my present life ? I have decided that each future visit to Brooktondale must include a stop at this cemetery on the hill. If for no other reason than to make myself think of death as a friend to become comfortable with rather than a dark shadow to be nervous about.

I am a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ and His death gave me Life Eternal. God only wants me to Believe in Jesus ? How simply amazing and gracious of Him!! There is nothing to fear and much to live for!

I saw another tombstone once in a Cemetery:

amen. I am done thinking for today.

Thoughts for the Grandparents among us

Just returned from a short jaunt to Ithaca, New York and for some reason, it was unsettling this time. I do not return often, as evidenced by my memory pile up. This time my purpose was to join my daughter and her family  for two days in order to show her the 'important' places of her birthplace and early years. 

I was born in Ithaca, NY in Tompkins County Hospital , on a spring day so many years ago. My parents were both born there, my grandparents were a mixture of born and emigrated, so it feels as if my roots are Ithacan. I went away to college, moved to Brasil with my firstborn son and husband, then returned to live another few years as an adult in Ithaca.

Returning now, after many years away, was enlightening and difficult. My discovery was that I like the Ithaca in my mind alot better than the Ithaca of the here and now. The old Ithaca had more charm and warmth . In my mind's eye, the places of childhood were larger, cleaner, farther from each other and incredibly unique. The house that dad built had a huge front lawn and a driveway that extended beyond normal ranges in it's length and curve appeal.

How can a new owner have changed something my dad built? Where is the beautiful Birch tree in the front yard? or the bay window he took so much pride in? or the field of goldenrod that bordered the side yard? How is it there are trees growing that are older than my children? and the redwood panel on the front gables is completely GONE?

Passing this homestead and moving on to drive by the one in which I had 2 of my 7 children was another shocker. First time by, we actually missed it! I had to go , get out at the beginning of the road,(we took a picture for posterity , of course!) and then reorient myself, driving slowly up Middaugh Road. Where was my pink ranch house??

 No way was that the right house! and yet, the number clearly indicated it was.

Groans from within erupted as Margie exclaimed, "it is so tiny!!!!". Of course I agreed, but at the time, it felt very spacious and lovely.



 Where are the pictures in my head? Do they even match the pictures in the mind of a 4 year old little girl who has them cemented as the Truth of early living? Well, if not, which is the true home? This ramshackle , picket fenced version, my sentimental, cozy HOME, or Margie's children's edition? Then there must be what Paul and Becca remember also, perhaps even different memories yet!

 Well, so much for the homes, but what about the woods? They couldn't have changed much, could they?

 

Surprise, surprise! My mind had recall of these roads being long, treacherous, scary and
dangerous to traverse alone on. I remember going with my dad on weekends to collect patio rocks from this very deep gorge area, often being afraid we would fall and nobody would know where we were.

Reality check:  Shindagin Hollow (Preserve? Forest?) is now one of the premier destination Mountain Biking locations on the East Coast, as evidenced by Margie's husband locating it on his GPS more quickly and accurately than from my memory.  He had discovered this trail on a trail guide map for he and the boys to bike while we wandered around by car. It was less than a mile up the road from my uncle's Homestead. As an aside, his house shrank too. :-)

What am I thinking now that most of my childhood, adult memories are all irrelevant and mistaken? Maybe they were just altered slightly from the real world by emotional impact or age or circumstances of life. No matter how or why, the Mind had a different story that the Reality. I have been thinking and thinking about this since my return and it has left me very aware of an application.

My application is for those parents (such as me, who is currently alone like a deer in the forest) who have adult children often bombarding us at one time or another with 'facts' about their childhood. This includes our parenting, our disciplining, their memories of our parenting, their joint comments about growing up....those of us with several children often even have a group effort at convincing us of some truth they recall vividly.

Well, well, if my mind can alter the facts of locations, homes, and entire roads so completely that I can drive completely by a place I lived for over 10 years....I am much more comfortable with those tales of woe, misdeeds  and oversights that my kids occasionally converse about. It used to make me feel so sad that I had such a lousy memory and was apparently such a poor parent. Now I am going to just smile, knowing that some day their own kids will visit homesteads and discover memory mismatching truths of their own. I'll be on Grand-Parenting:The Next Generation, waiting for them to catch up :-) .

If you are still reading , let me add one more thing, please.

We have recently studied the book of Ecclesiastes in church. There is a little verse in the middle of this interesting book of Scripture that says: "Do not say,, why were the former days better than these? For you do not inquire wisely concerning this." (7:10)

I fear that as we age it is all too easy to reminisce and remember fondly past times and experiences as if they were golden opportunities lost. There is  another verse later on in this book : "Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come."

We are wise to heed this warning as we chat with our grandchildren, for our children have grown and are formulating their own parenting styles and making memories. Our legacy of grandchildren if we are so blessed, is to encourage these little people to Know their Creator God now. Times will become difficult ahead and the economy is the least of the reasons why this is so.