First stop: The End



I got to Macon earlier than I planned. I had the name of the cemetery and general directions for finding Grandmama and Granddaddy's graves, so it seemed like as good a place as any to start my exploration.

I pulled in just as the sun was setting. The cemetery was huge. And peaceful. Air beginning to cool, birds high in the trees, far-off train whistle. A good place to breathe after an afternoon of bombing down the interstate.

I knew I'd never find them by looking, so I decided to follow my feet. And they took me there. Right straight there. Darnedest thing.

Okay, here I am. What next? I read the footstones. "Minister of the Gospel" for him and "A Minister Through Music" for her. (Interesting how we word things differently for those of us who just are, and haven't been hired to be so.)

Having no brightly colored plastic flowers to offer, I settled for a tasteful bouquet of wild ones that I found nearby.




I looked around at the neighbors--what's it like to hang out here for eternity? Who else is around? I introduced myself to the Jewish family buried next door, and imagined Grandmama going over to welcome the newcomers to the neighborhood, dropping off some Tea Time Tassies, maybe borrowing a cup of sugar later on.

The train whistled again, I started to get chilly, and it was time to go. Grandmama and Granddaddy were glad I had come.

It was mutual on both sides.