I think the reason I like cemeteries is that they give you a tangible place to visit when you are missing your deceased loved ones. I’ve always had a strong attachment to the Clearwater Cemetery outside of Clearwater, Nebraska, because so many of my extended family members are buried there. My maternal grandfather was one of thirteen siblings, and most of them, as well as many of their family members, are interred at Clearwater. My parents came from Clearwater, so both my paternal and maternal grandparents are buried in this cemetery.
Here is the marker for my paternal grandparents. They had five children, my dad being their eldest.
In the above photo, my mother’s name, and her other sister’s, too, are covered by the flowers, but this headstone is on my maternal grandparents’ gravesite.
I took this photo of my mother and her younger brother, Paul, two summers ago. Paul was more like an older brother to me, and he was one of my favorite people. Paul wanted to go to the cemetery and visit their parents — my grandparents — and my mother asked if I wanted to tag along. I almost didn’t go, but I’m so thankful I did because this was the second-to-last time I ever saw Paul alive. He passed away about three months later from a lung infection exacerbated by covid.
What is freaky about the photo is this — not only was the last photo I ever took of Paul in a cemetery, but my mom’s car in the background is parked almost directly in front of the spot that now contains Paul’s ashes. If I were to go to the cemetery now and take a photo from this same position, in the background you would be able to see my uncle’s final resting spot. (I took the following photo one day while visiting Paul with my dog, Blaze.)
My mom and dad bought the plots next to him after he died, so they can be near him and their own parents. The only one of my mom’s siblings who isn’t in this cemetery is her sister Karen, who died two days after Paul (Yes, Mom lost her two remaining siblings within a week’s time) and is buried in Ewing, a nearby town.
My dad’s youngest brother also lies in the Clearwater cemetery not too far from their parents. Dwaine died after an aneurysm burst in his belly. My last memory of him was when he attended one of my son’s high school football games in Ponca. We had a nice drive up there and back and a good visit. It’s odd, and sad, that both of my parents lost their baby brothers far too soon.
I go to the Fremont cemetery a lot to visit my best friend, Amy Vojtech Beran, who also passed away far too young at the age of 50 from cancer. She and I met our first year of college at UNL when we happened to live on the same dorm floor and be in the same Spanish class. Amy was the most wonderful person in the world, and I miss her every day. I keep her photo nearby while I write because her lovely, smiling face inspires me to always make the most of the time I have. Prior to one of my first visits, I found a painted rock at the gas station, so I took it along to leave on her grave. After that, it became a thing for me, and eventually I added a wire box to house the rocks I leave. Soon I will need to add a second because I rarely travel to Omaha without stopping for at least a quick visit. She’s gone, but she’s always in my heart.
Less than a year after Amy’s death, my boyfriend’s middle son, Trever, took his own life. He was in the Air Force and had served numerous overseas missions. Something triggered a massive bout of PTSD, and within a couple weeks he was gone. Trever grew up in Wausa, Nebraska, so that is where he is buried. His funeral saw one of the biggest outpouring of military personnel and American Legion Riders that I’ve ever seen. He was a special man, and his father, Kim, and I drive out to visit him as often as possible. Trever is buried next to Kim’s parents’ grave. Kim’s mother is still alive, though, but when she is gone, she will rest between her husband and her grandson. Kim plans to rest on the other side of his son when the time comes.
Cemeteries are indeed sad places, but I still maintain that I’m glad we have them because they are that physical place that ties the living to the dead. Those headstones are tangible proof that the people we loved once existed, and seeing their names brings back all those memories, which are all we have when the people who made them are gone.
The only real sorrow I feel in a cemetery is when I see old stones that have become so faded you can no longer read the name of the person lying beneath it. It’s bad enough that the person faded from life, his or her name should never fade away.
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