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Decoration Day

Originally published 01/21/06 on Cadet Spiff's Deep Space Log

"A lot of the past two years have been a blur to me."

Those words are from my 75-year-old mother, spoken as we are driving down back roads on this overcast Saturday, from Birmingham on through Lincoln, then Ohatchee and Alexandria, until we finally reach our destination in Jacksonville. She and I, along with my two daughters, are on the way to the family plot at the cemetery adjacent to Jacksonville State University, where we will place new flowers on my father's, brother's, and paternal grandparents' graves.

And I know the past two years have been hard on the woman. She lost her husband of 53 years, had a heart attack scare, and had to put up with me. Blur is hardly the word.

But here we are, passing redneck-tacky yard decorations and rusted-out cars on a Talladega County back road, coming ever closer to my dad's final resting place.

In times past, I would have dreaded this trip. I felt it was a waste of time to drive all this way to put fake flowers on a grave. But today is somehow different.

For one thing, this trip was my youngest daughter's idea. Two weeks ago, she was rooting around in the garage and found a spray of silk flowers. She asked my mom what they were for, and after hearing my mother's reply, suggested that we make a family outing the next time we all got together. So events were set in motion.

We arrive on the outskirts of Jacksonville, and thread our way though back streets and the University until we reach our destination. No one is at the cemetery when we get there. We pop open the trunk, get out the assorted arrangements, floral foam, a pair of wire cutters and some scissors, and get to work.

We go to my father's grave first. Even though it's been more than two years since he was buried, only recently has the headstone been put into place. It's one of the bronze, flat pieces, with my father's name on one side, and my mother's name on the other. It's odd to see her name already on the grave, just waiting for a date of death to make the marker complete. It's also odd to see that the caretakers of the cemetery have placed the marker in the reverse, so it's out of line with the rest of the markers in the cemetery.

Next to my father's marker is my brother, Wes. He died when he was 4 months old, and this was three years before I was born, so I never knew him. Foam, flowers, and we're done. Same with the paternal grandparents, whom I also never knew.

I can't really tell what kind of effect all of this is having on mom, but I'm in a quiet, reflective mood. At least for a moment.

Then the moment is gone, and we head for Oxford and lunch at Cracker Barrel. Then it's home and all is well.

Rest in peace.

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