Pa spent the day on the mountain. Fixing his mother’s grave. His hands have kept it from sinking…for years.
No one knew where he was. A man of 70. Of five heart attacks and so much more.
Ma worried. She wrung her hands and waited. When he came home she asked him where he’d been? Why was he up there? All alone?
Something could have happened. No one would have known.
“I wasn’t alone. All my family was there.”
He should know. He was the one who buried them.
Pa doesn’t build coffins. Not anymore. But he builds the graves to put them in. He does it because no one else will, and because people deserve to be laid to a real rest…in a family cemetery….where family do it all. Pa’s been doing it since he was twelve. (WTGWM)
I know why he goes to the Powell Cemetery on Grapevine Mountain. Why he thinks and prays and sits alone with everything that was and will be.
I know because he told me.
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Since he was 12? WOW…the life your Pa must’ve had. And I’m wondering if you’re the only one that knows this…are you the one to carry on this tradition?
Comment by David 03.17.06 @ 20:03I admire people who remember and respect the dead.
(changing the subject)
Sometimes I find it unsettling to be confided in by my own father. He’d forget who I am and say things that are meant to be told to a close friend, and I wonder if it’s good for our father-daughter relationship for me to know him that well.
I love the image evoked in the phrase “she wrung her hands…” I have always had a soft spot for that phrase. Great post.
Comment by kerri 03.18.06 @ 9:38I can picture him so clearly. And I feel like I know what makes him “tick.”
Lovely post.
Comment by LisaBinDaCity 03.18.06 @ 14:49it makes me curious who is going to bury Pa and keep his grave from sinking?
Comment by Dawn (webmiztris) 03.18.06 @ 19:15Enchanting…You are one of the few people who can make me sigh and smile at the same time.
Comment by fauve 03.20.06 @ 13:52My mother, father and grandmother were cremated. I have no graves to visit. I feel robbed. They wanted to save money. They did not know how I would long to sit at their burial site and talk. Talk about what was and what is and what may be to come.
Your blog is beautiful.
Comment by hattigrace 03.21.06 @ 0:47This is really beautiful. I look forward to reading more of your blog. Thanks for stopping by today!
Comment by Last Girl On Earth 03.21.06 @ 3:52This is wonderful… thank you for sharing it. I love your words and I’ll be back.
Comment by Wendy 03.21.06 @ 20:52This is perfect. Absolutely perfectly written.
Hope things are going well for you. Wrote a McDowell Co.-esque thing on my blog “La Femme Nikita”.
Catching up with your blog, B. I like the brevity of this piece and the feel of this family’s history as it drips from the words. Great writing.
Comment by dan flynn 03.23.06 @ 20:12A quiet moment, and an important reflection. I’m sure he carried a piece of the place with him always.
Comment by jason evans 03.28.06 @ 16:59[...] bone cold the powell cemetery 25 things that black lung No Comments so far Leave a comment RSS feed for comments on this post. Leave a comment Line and paragraph breaks automatic, e-mail address never displayed, HTMLallowed: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <code> <em> <i> <strike> <strong> [...]
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Comment by zyrtec 04.28.06 @ 13:00But you’re an excellent story teller. You’ve inspired me to start to collect my own family’s stories. It’s a passion of mine I’ve put off for too long. Once they’re gone, they’re gone forever.
Comment by beckq 05.09.06 @ 2:06Leave a comment
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