You Will Not Be Remembered

My paternal grandfather, who shared his first, middle and last name with me, seems to be buried in two places. The headstone that sits in the oldest cemetery of his hometown, dating back well before the War Between the States, bears the name of he and my grandmother. Her body rests there, as it has since 1960, but he is missing. He actually lies with his second wife in a much more modern place of rest, in one of those bland "Restful Acres", the kind of place where there are no headstones because it makes the maintenance inconvenient. Here, the lawnmowers just run right over everyone, including he and my father.

Even though the chance of finding the grave site of my grandfather is twice as likely as the average soul, he won't be found. No one is looking. He was blessed with 3 fine sons, all of whom lived successful and full lives. But they are all dead now as well. And while my grandfather lived his entire life in Georgia, his sons ended up all over the country, and their children all over the world.

I know where my grandfather is buried. My children do not. I am sure that the same holds true for my cousins. My children never knew my grandfather; they hardly knew my father, for he passed on rather early and I had children rather late, a bad combination for this type of relationship.

As I grow older, I understand more and more the fleeting nature of this life. I am also coming to realize that the memory of someone is too an ephemeral thing. This even holds true for the famous, who are remembered, but not really remembered. The famous suffer the ignominious fate of every life's action being rehashed and pored over with opinions given as to the larger meaning, but the person within is as forgotten as any other poor slob.

I once owned a piece of acreage in Georgia that had apparently housed a small country church at one time. The church was long gone, but in the front corner of my property there were about 20 or so graves. Most had markers of some type, long ago rendered unreadable. The deed to my property showed the cemetery, but nothing was really known about it. What I found interesting, and why I mention it here, is that my property was in the middle of the woods. A road had been cut in order to sell the lots, but the property was so overgrown that it was obvious that no one had been aware of these souls and their resting place for well over a century. They must have had families, friends, acquaintances, but they too were long gone and long forgotten.

I write of this, not to be depressing, for I am a Christian, and know that while my body will eventually fail (sooner rather than later) my person will live on. No, I write of this to remind myself that what happens here and now is only of fleeting importance and will soon be swept up and away in the breeze that is time. And even the breeze that sweeps up what is and was my life will soon be forgotten as well.