We Live on in the Talk

The newspaper was still in their driveway.

"They must be away," I said to Mari.

"I think this is the weekend they visit family cemeteries," Mari replied.

A few weeks ago, Mari's family held a reunion in the small town in Iowa--not far from here, as reunions go--and they, too, visited family cemeteries.

I do not come from a cemetery culture, or if I did, it did not "take". I know where my parents and maternal grandparents are buried, and I have visited the very old church and cemetery in Norway where my paternal family members are buried, but visiting any of those places is a seldom event. Maybe it is because I live far away.

Once it was that we occupied territories; hunted those grounds, cultivated them, married someone nearby, lived and died there. We visited where we had buried those who came before.

One of the ways we live after death is when those who follow come to visit the place where we were finally laid. They talk about their memories. We live on in the talk and the stories about us. When no one remembers and talks about us anymore, we are finally gone.

So maybe this is the weekend when our neighbors are keeping the family alive.

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