I had a conversation with my mom yesterday that went to a strange place. It started with her telling me about a conversation she had with my grandma. My grandma had some flowers and a huge rose bush that the gardeners at her apartment community had cut back to almost nothing. She was very upset. My mom told her to dig up what was left of the rose bush and take it out to the cemetery where my great-grandma and my grandpa are buried. My mom suggested that she replant the rose bush between their graves.
Unfortunately I wasn’t able to attend either one of their funerals, so I asked, “They are buried next to each other?”
To which my mom replied, “Yeah. There is a spot for grandma on the other side of grandpa. We all have spots there.”
For some reason I was creeped out by that information. The great thing about my mom, though, is that we were both creeped out and we laughed and joked about it.
The cemetery that she was talking about is out in the middle of nowhere South Dakota. It’s where all of my mom’s grandma’s family is buried. In fact, I think that land may have belonged to them at one point. It seems strange to me to think about being buried there though. That’s the only tie that I have to SD.
I was born in Kansas and lived there for the first 25ish years of my life. We lived in Missouri for a while – years I’d like to forget. But the place that feels like home to me is where I live now, Charlotte, NC.
When I mentioned this to my mom she said, “Well, they don’t bury people at racetracks!” That’s unfortunate for me. That would be my first choice.