Someone to watch over me.

"There's still a rope burn on that old branch, 
that hangs over the river, 
I still got the scar
From swinging out a little too far
There ain't a corner of this hallowed ground, 

that we ain't laughed or cried on, 

it's where we loved,
Lived and learned a lotta stuff
It's everything we're made of."

This past weekend, when I went to St. Louis, there was one person who I visited that I told very few people about. I visited with my Mom---I visit her every time I am in town. In case you are wondering, she is off White Road, about three quarters of a mile down a two-lane stretch on the left-hand side. Once through the gates, continue straight and look for a very large stone column and you will find her about 12 steps away. She is peacefully resting next to my Aunt and Uncle who have similar stones.

It's always kind of interesting to go visit a cemetery; it's very quiet (unless a service is going on at the time) and it's also extremely personal. You find written memories, flowers and other gifts placed in front and around the stones where they now live---also, there are little rocks placed on top to let them know someone had been there to visit. Again, it's very personal, yet very open for all to see.

While I was there, I went in search of my grandparents, yet this time they must have been  hiding from me. I guess this would be called, "cemetery hide and seek." Not only did they  play the game well, I couldn't find them and finally gave up. ("Olly, Olly, Oxen Free.") I was disappointed, but had to smile when I thought---maybe they were down at the race track betting on the ponies. (My grandparents loved to go to Vegas and the horse track.)

I recognized a lot of names, lots of "baums, steins, felds, mans, and others" with very few "Johnson, Smiths, Whites, and Joneses" in the area. This was a 'hood in West County and let's just say, it was Jewish upper middle class.

As I walked back to the large stone that is near where my Mom rests, I stopped. I read a name that was not more than 15 feet from where my Mom and Aunt and Uncle now lived. A fraternity brother had moved into the neighborhood a little more than a year ago. I might add, based upon the ages of those who also live in the neighborhood, he was way too young to have taken up residence. 

I met Martin "Marty" Goldstein when I went to the University of Missouri; I knew Marty because we were in the same pledge class in AE Pi, but didn't know him as well as I knew other people who lived in the house. He was a good guy, loved to laugh, was very social (AKA one who liked to party) and had a girlfriend who he later married. I knew Marty had succumbed to ALS or Lou Gehrig's disease; I was leveled when I learned of his passing a little more than a year ago. Besides that, I really had lost touch over the many years since college. Yet, there he was, living in the same area I frequently visit. (I put a stone on his stone and will do so when I visit next time.)

The photo above is of Marty's stone. Like many others it is grey, has an inscription, and because it was Memorial Day weekend, there were many flags around the cemetery and his stone in particular. If there is one thing about a cemetery that I enjoy, it's the ability to take a photograph of a moment that has been left for everyone to enjoy. Maybe flowers, a letter, or even a St. Louis Cardinal flag---one thing you never have to worry about is asking anyone to stand up straight, turn this way or smile...they already are.

Thanks for stopping by.