This is all my kids know of their aunt–my sister. She died right before my wedding, so the kids never met her. All they know is mom’s stories and a gravestone. I grieve over the things that they never got to share with her–birthdays, Christmases, trick-or-treating, camping, reading a story, laughing, hugs, a relationship.
I wanted to visit my sister’s grave before moving away and I brought the kids along, thinking it would be a good thing for them to visit as well. We brought yellow daisies and each put one on her grave, then walked around the cemetery looking for other relatives. Right next to my sister are two of my grandparents and my aunt. We have other relatives scattered throughout the rest of the cemetery–another aunt, another grandfather, their siblings and parents, etc. Carved out of a large farm field is this plot of land which houses my extended family who have passed on. Someday I will probably be buried here, too. There’s something comforting thinking about being laid to rest with my family in this peaceful and quiet plot of land. Until that time, I want to live a life that is worthwhile–a life that would make my sister proud–a life that would honor her memory. I sure do miss her.