My grandmother passed away when I was two years old. I am grateful for the one memory I have of her. She was in the hospital after having her leg amputated due to complications from diabetes. I clearly remember a peaceful smile on her face as she told me that Jesus was with her.
My one and only memory and it's a legacy to hold on to.
Note - I am posting straight-from-the-camera shots and then the edited version (if any). I have my reasons.:)
My grandfather died of leukemia when my mom was 12 years old.
My grandmother's grave is in the background. She shares a stone with my step-grandfather. However, my mother's parents were very much in love from the beginning until death parted them.
Ok, so this isn't the original. Honest, the only thing I did was add the white matte around the edges.
My great-grandmother died from appendicitis when my grandmother was just 18 or 20 years old. My mother is named after her.
As I drove to the cemetery and walked around, I couldn't help but imagine my mother at 12 years old burying her father. I believe she said it rained that day. Many of the graves I see now were here then. Did she stop to look at her great-grandmother's grave? Did this sweet little lamb with it's inscription catch my young mother's eye? This baby had died just 3 years before. Did she wonder about him and his family? Did she understand more than most children the keen sense of heartache they were probably still feeling? Today I wonder what this child's story was. The few times I've been to the cemetery, there have always been flowers at this little grave.
You've never had a name, but you've never been forgotten.
The next few I didn't bother touching up as, frankly, I didn't think they needed it.:)
Thank you for walking with me as I contemplate my heritage. How about you - what is your family story?