Remembering the Departed, part 1

Neither my husband nor I have ever been ones to go to graveyards on Memorial Day weekend, although I myself have always loved cemeteries.  A person can often read the words on a tombstone and find a story between the lines.  

Growing up, my parents and I never missed going to Eagleville on Memorial Day, and I think that's when I became fascinated with tombstones.  While the uncles, aunts, parents, cousins, and my grandma stood near the graves of their ancestors relating stories of their forebears, I'd wander off and read tombstones; once in a while my mother had to remind me not to step on the graves; she was serious about that.  Then we'd go to some graveyards where some of my dad's people were laid to rest, deposit our flowers, and go back to Kansas City.

Maybe it's because I'm in my declining years, but this year I felt a desire to go to the Allen cemetery in Harrison County, Missouri, and see those graves.  Cliff can't do much right now, since he has a new cochlear implant that will soon be giving him (hopefully) a little more hearing on the left side.  He can't bend over, carry heavy objects, or wash his hair for awhile.  But he can drive, so he willingly accepted the duty of taking me to walk among the graves.  

I intended to buy some flowers at Walmart in Richmond on our way, but the flowers had sold out two days earlier.  It was the same story at Dollar General except for some single tulips and other such flowers, so I got a few of those.

Although I lived in Eagleville near my maternal relatives for maybe three years, we might not have found the Allen Cemetery, if not for GPS.  By the way, my maiden name is Allen, but my dad's family has nothing to do with that name of the graveyard; that's simply coincidence.  His people are buried in other small cemeteries around the county; he and my half-brother may be the only Allens in this graveyard, for all I know.

This is my mother's youngest brother and his wife

Cliff expressed surprise that there  were already flowers on this grave two days ahead of time.  I reminded him that Uncle Leo's four children often get together in the house my uncle and aunt owned in Bethany, since they are scattered around in various places.  "In fact," I said, "I wouldn't be surprised if they are there now."

Ruby was the firstborn of the children.

Below is my half-brother, Jack.  He died from cancer in a halfway house in Kansas City.

My mom and dad

My maternal grandparents.  Grandpa died before I was born.

Uncle Carl and Aunt Bernice.  Carl was two years younger than my mother.  She told me that she and Carl sometimes went fishing together as children; if their dad was around, he would tell them to get the weeds out of a row or two in the garden first; then they could go fishing.

This is the view from the back of the graveyard.

There was another graveyard nearby that I wanted to visit, but we didn't know how to get there.  Also, Uncle Leo's farm was somewhere near the cemetery; nobody lives in the house there, but the children haven't sold it.  They, or their grown children, keep the grass mowed through the summer.  I think a local farmer rents the pastures for his cattle.  I wanted to take some pictures at the farm because it was such a big part of my childhood, but I couldn't find it.  So, we drove to Bethany, ate at Toot-Toot's, and then went to see if my cousins were indeed in town, as I suspected.

To be continued