As an adult, I don't spend my Memorial Day the same way. I've only been to visit my mother's and grandparents' graves twice as an adult - once with my cousin Teri, which became a devastating visit as I realized that my grandparents had no tombstone, and once with my own kids, which ruined one of my favorite pairs of shoes and resulted in opening a floodgate of sadness for me. I'm sure if I went more often, or made an annual tradition of it, I could hold myself together better. For now, though, I just don't go. Something about remembering all those I've lost while at their gravesides is just too much, and because the drive is so long, I find reasons to avoid it. Today, I remember:
Uncle Charles - I loved him so much! He was accepting, loving, kind, and generous, and he loved me despite my many faults at the time we were close. He was the first person I took Morgan to visit when she was born - we went to his house even before going home from the hospital. He taught me so much, and to this day I use his advice as a deciding factor in loaning money or things to others - "if you aren't prepared and able to give it as a gift, don't give it at all. Then, if you are repaid or it is returned, it will be an unexpected bonus."
Grandma & Papa Shatswell - they were the only people in my life who were a consistent, loving influence from the time I was born until they died my junior year of high school. They weren't perfect, but I always knew how much they loved me, and they were the center of my world. Losing them was harder than anyone else I've lost so far in my life, and I miss them always. When they died, a little piece of my heart died forever with them.
Aunt Alice - she was my Grandma Shatswell's sister, and she was the only person from my mom's side of the family that came to my high school graduation. She missed church to see me graduate as valedictorian, and that was a sacrifice that I can't even put into words. We kept in touch long after my contact with the rest of the family faded, and I still look in the direction of her house when I drive into Sand Springs.
Grandma & Grandpa Crawford - they were my Grandma Shatswell's parents and lived on the same lot as Aunt Alice. When Grandma Crawford died, Aunt Alice moved out of her little house and down to the big house to take care of Grandpa. Grandpa was a traveling preacher and loved to fish. Grandma Crawford had weekly church at home after she became too ill to go to church, and I remember many late nights falling asleep on the floor as others were worshiping and praying around me.
Mom - I'm always amazed at how much I miss someone I didn't really even know. She was beautiful, she loved me, and my life changed indescribably the day she died in a car accident. I was five, and my Grandma & Papa Shatswell, her parents. were the ones who came to tell me the awful news. At the time, I only knew that I was hurting, but now I know that losing her was so very painful for them as well. When I was told that she was never coming home, I ran screaming from the trailer, wailing at the top of my lungs as I ran circles around the mobile home. On the way back to Tulsa with Grandma, Papa, and Grandpa Crawford, I stubbed my toe so many times it bled, and I fell asleep with my head in Grandma's lap and her prayers in my ears. I woke up in a car with my dad & stepmom, so angry that they had taken me away. I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral or to speak of my mom at all in my dad's home. For years I imagined that my mom hadn't really died and that she would one day come back for me.
No, I didn't drive to their graves today, but they are always in my heart. And one day, I will see them again, in the city where the Lamb is the light, because every single one of those people, with the exception of my mom. left me a legacy of love for God - and that's the best memory of all.
