A Little Family History

One of my favorite family traditions is going to the graves on Memorial Day.  It think it is a tradition not always honored any more in our society.  It has always been a strong tradition in in my extended family thanks to these two: 

My grandma and grandpa Brown lovingly take flowers from their gardens to all of their families grave site and clean them up.

I actually really saw for the first time this year the love that goes into it.  Especially from my grandpa.  He spent a very long time cleaning up and taking care of the graves of his wife's deceased extended family.  I watched him tend to those grave sites and thought about his motives.  I think that shows a great deal of love, respect, and honor.  He is a good man, my grandpa.

We are "that" family that sits in the cemetery and tells stories.  It is wonderful and really carries a strong sweet spirit of family and unity.  I guess this is part of what they mean when they say "turning the hearts of the children to their fathers".  I can tell stories about my great grandparents that I have never met.  I love that.

 This is my grandpa's grandparents.

They lost four children and they are all buried right underneath them.  Two of their children that died were older (like 7 and 14) - my heart ached for them.  They lost 4 children at separate time of their lives.  As a mother now, my heart sunk when I saw my poor great great grandmothers four children that she buried. 

 This is my grandpa's parents.  They died before I was born, but my mother was very close to them, so I feel a kinship.  They lived right up the street from my grandparents and my mom growing up (I am told it was a lot like "Everybody Loves Raymond" - so there are a lot of funny stories.)

 My grandma's little brother died when he was 17 in a car accident.

This is my grandma's parents.  I knew my great grandmother well.  We called her "Great".  She died when I was a junior in high school.  She came to the graves a lot, and in her old age she was so funny (I think confused is the correct term).  One year I remember she thought that people had just died and we were at their burial, she morned their loss all over again.  It was really sad, kinda funny too.  She was so sad for her little Ricky, and her husband (he had died about 30 years before and she was always so mad that he had "left her" and "hadn't come and got her yet".)  One year she was sad because she thought one of her other sons Nels, had died and we were at his grave.  We told her Nels was still alive, that made her happy.

 These are my grandma's grandparents.  He had two wives, but not at the same time.  My "real" great great grandma died when my great grandma was about two and the family was in Chicago.  They brought the body here (they were coming from Norway to join the saints in Salt Lake City) and buried her in the City Cemetery.  Her husband soon remarried (in Salt Lake) and she raised all the children.

We have adopted this grave site into our family.  We don't know who she is (names are rubbed out) - but she is right next to my great great grandparents.  When my great grandma was a little girl her and her sisters would go to their mothers grave they would have a contest see who could cry first or cry the hardest.  This statue made them so sad and they noticed no one ever came and visited her - they figured she would want someone to be sad she had died, so they would take a few minutes and cry for her every time.  They called her the "weeping woman". (Young girls are so dramatic... can't wait:)  We continue to visit her each time.

This last one is my uncle.  He died suddenly almost 4 years ago.  His presence and memory are still very tangible.  It is funny because I couldn't say me and my uncle were particularly close, we saw each other a lot, but.... you know... didn't have a lot to talk about I guess.  But I can honestly say I felt a draw to him my whole life and after his death I learned that his opinion meant a lot to me.  I remember wanting his approval.  I really respected him.  I still find my self wondering what he would think about something or react to something.  He is very very missed.

 

I shared this tradition with my boys this year.  They did very good resisting their urge to climb on every grave stone.  I hope they can learn to love their heritage and ancestry like I have.  I think it is a strong part of who I am and who I decided I wanted to be.  I feel that I have a deep heritage of faithful, strong women and I can distinctly remember as a teenage girl knowing that I wanted to draw strength from them and follow in their tradition.  I want to pass that on to my children.