From the hilltop

My father's grave sits on a peaceful hill in an old cemetery. He would have been 66 this week. The kids and I went there today and enjoyed walking around, reading epitaphs, and leaving wildflowers on my dad and grandmother's graves.

It's quite lovely up there. With a near constant breeze it's almost never hot...not even on a 95 degree day like today. From underneath the shade of the old oak tree at the very top of the hill, you can see for miles. My favorite view is of the city skyline. It's an interesting juxtaposition of life and death--the bustling city life imposed behind the gravestones and memorials of the dead.

My family's plot goes back to my great-great-grandfather. I can't help but wonder what life was like when he was my age...I wonder about all of the people buried in the cemetery...does anyone remember them anymore? Does anyone stop by and say "hello" to them anymore? Of course, the more creative epitaphs give you some idea of who or what the person was. I love my father's epitaph, "Beloved physician, father, and friend." Years from now, when no one remembers him personally, they can still read his marker and know what a grand guy he was. I think that's just what he would have wanted...to be thought of as a grand guy.