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Sometimes when I start thinking about my mother, and missing her, I visit a random cemetery. She doesn’t have a grave, my father had her cremated. Now I have no idea where her ashes are, it didn’t really matter to me. I guess it still doesn’t really, either way she’s still gone. Sometimes I imagine my father’s new wife dusting off the urn that sits on her mantel. Bitter of the reminder of his previous life and love.

Usually I’ll wander through the cemeteries picking out the tombstones I imagine she’d like. One of my favorites is a family plot in Greenwood, the Personett’s. A short walk from the main entrance, it’s right between the chapel and the lake. The family name is memorialized with a big headstone. It’s not too big, or fancy. It’s simple with a cross carved into the stone, made to look like raw logs. Worn from time there’s also a flower I can’t quite make out. Below it are small markers, Mother, Father, S.B.P, and Minnie. The whole family still together. I can’t imagine a family so close from life until death.

Sometimes I sit and just remember her. Every now and then I’ll start talking out loud, about how I miss her, things that have happened since she died, and that I even wish our family was still together. Without her we never had any hope. She was the absolute only thing that ever held us together. She is what made us a family. When she died it all just seemed to fall apart.

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