Whistling Past the Graveyard

Cemeteries frighten some people but not me; I just about grew up in them.

Twice a year, ever since I could remember, our family visited many cemeteries in several counties.
Twice a year we raked, trimmed, planted, and washed the tombstones.
Twice a year my grandmother told us many stories, as well as some long ago secrets, about our our multitude of ancestors.
Twice a year us kids were given connections to the past and views of our roots that anchored us. We were taught that life and death are the natural way of things and that both should be honored.

Cemeteries are peaceful to me. I don't see dead people or ghosts or whatever it is about them that frightens some people.

I see the long line of people I'm descended from: the successful and the bankrupt, the generous and the miserly, the patriotic and the cowardly, the law abiding and the few criminals.

I see the parts my ancestors played in American and Canadian history, in the histories of Michigan, Missouri and in other areas.

I see my ancestors' long, happy marriages, some long unhappy marriages, the divorces and the separations. I see the generations of children, the farms, the businesses, and yes, twice a year I even saw the house built by my great-great-great-grandfather on our way to one cemetery.

And I see them in me.

It was a satisfying feeling to leave my ancestors' graves and tombstones looking tidy, fragrant with flowers, and freshly washed. It was nice to think that perhaps somewhere and somehow, our relatives smiled because they were glad someone remembered them after all this time.

So yes, I CAN whistle past a graveyard. They don't spook or scare me, even in the dark. They make me smile thinking about all of the many stories of the peoples' lives contained within them.