Once upon a time, people stayed put. They lived and died in roughly the same geographical area in which they’d been born. It made sense to bury them there as well, where family and friends who’d celebrated and mourned with the individual during his or her lifetime could stop by the cemetery on holidays and special occasions or even just to chat.
It’s a little harder for some families to do that now. We’re so much more mobile these days and often end up nowhere near where we began.
I have the deed to a double plot in the Bronx, where the man I knew as my grandfather planned to be buried beside his first wife, who died in 1952 at the age of 47. His name is even engraved on the headstone. He isn’t there; he’s buried in Florida, where he and my grandmother (his second wife) moved in the early 1970s. My grandmother isn’t buried beside him. She isn’t beside her first husband (my mother’s father), either. He predeceased her by over 45 years, dying suddenly while his young family lived in the Bronx. He’s buried all alone in Flushing, New York. His widow ended her days in Annapolis, Maryland, where she rests now with my parents and her eldest son (who had no connection whatsoever to Annapolis; how he ended up there from his home in Chicago is a story for another time).
The funeral industry recommends preplanning your burial arrangements for the ease of those you leave behind, but how do you do that if you come from a family that doesn’t stay in one place? I suppose part of the decision depends on personal needs. When my father passed away, it was important for my mom to have a contemplative place to come and visit him. She remembered her own mother doing the same. Naturally, Mom chose a cemetery close to her home, adding a bench as my father’s memorial stone so that people could sit and remember my outgoing dad, who knew just about everyone.
My family’s Annapolis days are over. Neither my sibs nor I live there. It’s rare that I stop by the cemetery. Sometimes I feel a little guilty that I don’t have the urge to travel and chat. On the other hand, I sense my parents with me often, sometimes so clearly that I answer a comment I’m sure they just made or hear a response in inflections and words that only they would use. I don’t think I’d feel any closer to them sitting by their graves than I do during the course of my day.
My paternal grandparents rest in Queens County, New York. My grandfather passed first in 1966 and was buried in the double plot the couple had purchased. My grandmother lived another eighteen years, long enough to acquire a gentleman caller whose name left her lips often enough that my father suggested she’d maybe like to marry him.
Her suitor had brought it up, my grandmother said, but it simply wasn’t possible. Because, “How would it look for a Mrs. Fishburn to be buried next to a Mr. Meyrowitz?”
Sometimes preplanned funeral arrangements impact life in unexpected ways.
My mother is buried in St. John’s, in Middle Village, Queens. Maybe next to your grandparents? 🙂
Joe, it would be nice to think they had company! I don’t think any of my fam is left in Brooklyn.
There’s a topic for your blog. Road trip to Queens to visit their graves. And adventure in moving through the city and finding your way to the site where they are buried. Pics of the headstones. You’re so good with ghost stories. Memories of loved ones long gone from this world, but not forgotten. I’ll be doing that before the end of the year hopefully. It’s only a few hour drive.
I no longer live in Annapolis either but I do occasionally stop by your parents’ grave when I’m in town. I miss them both and Roz was such a wise friend.
Oh gosh, this rings so true. My parents already picked out a plot that happens to be literally walking distance from my house (we walk our dogs through that cemetery frequently…as long as we won’t be bothering anyone) but who knows what the future holds? I was saying just the other day, if both my kids move away from me, If I could do so without favoring one over the other, I’d consider moving closer to them, especially if there are grandbabies in the picture. Which means I could end up hundreds of miles from my parents’ final resting place.
On another note, one of my great aunts had a man in her life after she was widowed, whom she never married. My proper grandmother always referred to him as her “special friend.”
I remember warmly our visit to your grandmother in (or around) Coney Island. 1978 or -79, perhaps. I was able to cheat a small task or two for her, to dodge the no-work-on-the-sabbath injunction.
I remember that visit! I even wrote a short story about it. Turning on the stove burner gave you godlike status.
Nancy, she was so fond of you, so appreciative of your friendship! I’m sure she pops in to visit you now and then, too.
Kristina, should you ever move away (in the distant future), I bet your parents would come with you. Thoughts of leaving must feel strange, though. It would represent such a definitive close to such a huge part of your life.
Joe, this would be an interesting journey! I’ve also occasionally wondered about visiting the graves of those who have nobody to do so. My grandfather’s first wife had no children. Because we keep our loved ones “alive” through stories and memories, it’s sad to me when there’s nobody around to do so. Of course, this is the eventual fate we all face. Some of us just get generations before our time on Earth is merely a whisper.