My father tends the graves in a small cemetery off I75 in Mount Vernon, Kentucky.
In that graveyard lies the body of his mother, who passed away suddenly in 1983. A caretaker mows the grass of this small, run down cemetery, dating back to the 1700’s. He mows before Memorial Day when the families arrive to have picnics amongst the gravestones, knowing that they will pay him for his service. Little other upkeep is done but for that done by the families of the deceased.
Soon after Granny died, my father planted grass over her grave so the mound of new earth would not look fresh and stark. He then returned to Africa to work.
Every time he came home, he stopped by to tend the grave. Then, upon returning for good, he would stop every time he drove by on 175. He would stand and stare at the grave, tears welling his eyes and often slipping down his face. Then, he tended the grave; weeding, sowing seed and planting flowers.
In 2007, Daddy’s brother died and was buried next to Granny. Daddy planted grass, arranged for a gravestone, and tended my uncle’s grave as well.
The cousins unite every year and tend the graves of their own parents as they reminisce of days gone by.
Daddy reserved two plots near by for he and mom to be buried. I feel sad and tears well up in my eyes as I ask, “Who will tend their graves?’ For, my sister and I live far away.
I know it is only a grave. Yet, it has always been important to my father to make certain the graves were kept looking well. It is his way of showing love.
I know, whatever it takes, that I will tend the graves when the times comes for my parent’s earthly bodies to lie in this familiar ground. I will return to plant the grass, pull the weeds and make sure any passerby will know that the people whose bodies lie in this ground were well loved while they walked on this earth.
So, Daddy, I commit to you, that when the time comes that you enter your eternal rest, I will return with heavy heart and over flowing eyes, to return the honor you bestowed on those whom you loved so much.