Living and Dying and in between

Living and Dying and In Between

I grew up in graveyards. Don't think that I am weird. It is the
normal thing in rural North Missouri where I am from. No trip with my
grandmother was complete without a walk through the family graveyards
to talk about old friends and family.

In many ways I feel like I know my old great aunts who were deaf but
had funny senses of humor. My great great grandfather's adventures
came alive a hundred times through the memory of my grandmother Sara.
Sometimes we would stop and sit on a stone for a while and talk about
how it was in the early 1900's in rural Missouri. When someone died,
they would take the door off of the front of the house, 'lay' the body
out on it, and all the neighbors and friends would come and visit to
remember the departed. Then there would be a service at the family
church and then they would join the rest of the family in the
graveyard. It seemed like a cycle; you walked around the graveyard
and then someday it is your turn to join the family.

I always think of a Lyle Lovett song "Family Reserve"

http://www.timhinkle.com/LyleLovett/familyreserve.html

part of it goes

"And there are more I remember
And more I could mention
Than words I could write in a song
But I feel them watching
And I see them laughing
And I hear them singing along

We're all gonna be here forever
So Mama don't you make such a stir
Just put down that camera
And come on and join up
The last of the family reserve"

Sometimes I wonder if my old Grandparents and aunts and uncles and
cousins thought about those who will follow them to the McBee Chapel
graveyard and the Black Oak graveyard. Did they picture us in the
same way I do them; part of the family. Every story I've been told
bonded me closer to them.

I've been having a discussion with myself and it goes like this. When
I die I want to have myself cremated and my ashes sent to the Shetland
Islands, which is a beautiful place and I'd be proud to have myself
scattered there but then I get to thinking maybe my place is with the
rest of the family, even though I don't believe they are really
'there'. But the 'there' that there is, is the young people like I was
once, walking through there and saying "Who was that person?". I
suppose it doesn't matter much but maybe what matters is the
continuity of it all. No matter what I've done in life or do in the
future I am one of the family reserve. It is comforting; no question
where I will end up in the scheme of things because we all do. But do
I end up there literally or not? The jury is still out.
But I know this; it is my responsibility to walk some younger people
of my family around out there and tell them stories about family
members who snored loudly and cooked great meals. It is my job to tell
them how much our departed family members loved our family. Because
with a little luck, some of those young people will be just like me;
feeling the need to keep telling the stories.

Dean Hughson is a proud member of the
Hughson/Kelly/Toomay/McBee/Dillman/Moad/Collins families that are
buried in the small graveyards around Braymer Missouri. With a little
luck he won't be at the family graveyard except socially for the long
future. He can be reached at deanhughson@gmail.com