We put flowers on my parents' graves in Provo yesterday, and it occurred to me that the race is on to be buried near them. We offspring have about five spots left around them, and the first to die win. I have four brothers and we own the plots as a group, and I guess respective spouses are planted nearby just by default. Do the math.
Our parents' plots in the Provo City Cemetery are in a wonderful place. Bullocks are near, and the Finlaysons. The Drs. Clark are nearby but I guess they are no longer a problem. And with my parents close by, the odds are better that we'll get flowers occasionally than if we're buried in South Jordan or Sandy though I'm sure Brad and Julia will stop by South Jordan to keep us company. My second choice, however, would be the Salt Lake Cemetery though I suppose my four grandparents are all ready knee-deep in neighbors with no more room for us.
Cemeteries are wonderful places, especially on Memorial Day. Even my granddaughters seemed to enjoy walking among the gravestones and flowers looking for the graves of babies. I love reading the dates on grave stones, love to read the odd and obscure comments and enjoy seeing names of families I knew from Provo. I only wish ordinances didn't prohibit more versatility and creativity among stones, but that's to be expected, I guess, if you want the lawns mowed. I like the benches, too. I've always told Carl I want a bench with the words "Come sit a spell" written on the side. Who knows? Maybe he'll provide me one. He just better not go first. I'll put a really rude comment on his bench if he does.
My parents graves, however, remind me that parents are missed no matter how much time has passed. It's been twenty years, almost since they died. I'm only one year younger than my mother was when she "shot-on-over" on Halloween night in 1988. What a perfect night to go. She would have loved it if she had not planned it. She had made the whole thing begin in a holiday mood by being born on the first day of spring, 1920. Was she terrific or what?