Here in the south, we participate in "decorations". As our weekend began, hubby watched little man while I headed to a small, and I mean small, old cemetery where my mom's family is buried. This will be the 2nd year that my mom had a spot to be cleaned and decorated. I remember as a small child, going with my mom to meet all her sisters to clean my grandmother and grandfather's grave. At the time, it was an opportunity to play on the balance beams, a.k.a. concrete bricks that made up a "divider wall" so to speak. I also remember the times when we found the area of graves that were close in proximity, and challenged each other on who could get the furthest without stepping on a grave... Man, if you were caught stepping on a grave.. you were in some trouble. It's called respect. Lots of folks don't have it anymore, but back in the day, my parents instilled LOTS of it into me. You don't step on graves, you are quiet, and you take care of those plots of family (and sometimes strangers that have no visitors) because... well, that's just respect.
So this year, as I made my way to the graveyard, I reminisced of the days of old as I took my soap and water and went to work removing the mud and dust that had lined mom's grave since the last cleaning. And, as I looked on at the sparkling tombstone, I silently said a prayer that God will let me be half the mother to B as my mom was to me. I pray that one day, he can look back at the same kind of RESPECT for me that I have for this woman of God.
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