Even when I’m not a walking stomach virus, I have always found funeral homes to be completely void of oxygen. They are suffocatingly hot or freezing cold and they reek of overlapping perfumes. The cemetery always felt like a breath of fresh, clean air. Maybe it’s because of my family’s bizarre yearly family reunions at the cemetery, but instead of being creepy and scary, cemeteries feel calm and comforting. I can walk through and point out the graves of my grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. I felt relaxed enough to pull out the camera and pester relatives with it. I don’t take pictures in the funeral home. It’s not how I want to remember anyone, it seems rude and I was once the unsuspecting viewer of such pictures (eek!).
Well rested Evan took off his shoes and socks and ran barefoot through the cemetery the entire time we were there. Amy literally danced around the headstones. Noah silently watched the casket being lowered and the grave being filled. The children all watched the men artfully working their shovels. Sarah followed small children around and Tommy stayed far away from everyone, contentedly reading the dates on the oldest graves. Doug and Evan goofed a bit. It was a peaceful moment in time. Now, life goes on.
My children LOVE going to the cemetery. I thought they were odd, but maybe not so much.
A couple years ago we buried a good friend, and the cemetery was on the final approach for Love Field; my daughter jumped up and down and waved at all the airplanes as they were landing. I had to try and keep her off of the flowers..