Day 264
Ian, the boy who believes we’ll
be arrested for sneaking in candy to the movies, worries jumping the fence into
the cemetery might not be my best idea.
“No one will see us if we
hurry,” I say. “Now, go.” The other two boys scurry over quickly
and continue the hunt.
I should clarify. We’re geocaching not robbing graves.
Today’s adventure leads us to the Jewish Cemetery in Montgomery. It’s a lush, leafy oasis I hadn’t
realized existed. Tucked behind
Hopewell Cemetery (and separated by a chain link fence), it’s a lovely,
tranquil spot to explore.
The boys take turns (albeit it
reluctantly) with my IPhone using the downloaded geocache app. Like a compass, it helps direct us to
the treasure. One step left. Two steps right. We wander with purpose until we find
the loot.
Unlike the Catholic cemetery we
left that’s littered with an array of artificial flowers and empty vases, this
resting spot is pristine.
Headstones dot the well-manicured lawn. Instead of flowers, visitors leave piles of neatly stacked
stones that serve as quiet markers of respect.
“Why do people leave stones?” I.
asks.
“To remember someone they
love. To honor their memory. To celebrate that they lived.”
“How come some people don’t have
any stones?” I. asks. He’s my
sensitive one. It’s exactly like
him to worry about the hurt feelings of those in the afterlife.
Lots of reasons, I tell
him. No stones doesn’t mean no one
remembers, I assure him. It only
means that a visit isn’t possible.
I think of all the visits I haven’t made to my grandmother’s stone in
Kentucky. I’ve been planning to
take a day and make the 90 minute-drive since we moved to Cincinnati. This month marks seven years since we
moved to Montgomery. I have yet to
make the trip.
“Can I put a stone here?” I.
asks, walking towards a headstone clean of pebbles. “You know, so they have one?”
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