Hallowed Ground

I love traditions. They represent stability to me and I thrive on stability. It's what keeps my little world on track and focused...I also think it represents control, a thing I struggle with. I like things to be controlled and thought out. Traditions are just that. I know when, where, how, who and what is expected. I need medication I know.

One tradition I have always loved is Memorial Day and visiting the Mountain View Cemetery in Pocatello. Growing up, except for the years spent in California, we spent every Memorial Day cleaning up my oldest brother Mark Brant and Grandpa Hobby's graves. Us kids never knew either of them, yet it made them real to us and now as a mother I have a whole new appreciation for the part of my parents that is buried there. If you click on the picture of Livvy you can see Brant's sweet headstone better. Right after my brother passed away, my mother's father bought the plots right next to him and it has been a comfort to my mom through the yrs. Just recently my parents bought their own plots one section over. My mother has always wanted to be close to her baby Brant. Resurrection morning will be a grand occasion in Pocatello.

Now my children get to visit this hallowed place. This day always presents a great opportunity to talk about death and the afterlife and with kids the questions always come. I don't think I have ever really been scared of death because of the many times I was able to talk with my parents about Brant and what they knew was a reunion between parent and child. I can clearly remember having the exact conversation with my mom that Olivia had this weekend. It is still the same 25 years later.

I do love this particular cemetery. I really wish I could be buried here. I want to be a part of that reunion mentioned above! It is lush and beautiful and full of history. I love the organized manner in which it is laid out, with its rows and rows and rows of perfectly measured squares. After the graves are cleaned up we wander around and visit many graves of friends we have known. There is Joey Mac, the little boy of my parent's good friend Curt, who died of heart complications. Curt always puts a pinwheel on Brant's grave every year and Mom and Dad always put a mum on Joey's. There is my young woman's leader who died of breast cancer 11 years ago. There are many, many men buried there that my dad played high school sports with. I know their names and I know the stories, but I still like hearing them again anyway. As we walk, my dad will point out a particular headstone and say, "He helped me and your mom move out of our first apartment and into a new one. He'd do anything for anyone. He was a great guy." We always come across a random name and my dad with his keen memory will tell us, "She was my 2nd grade teacher," or "She used to babysit me." There is also a boy buried there who played basketball with Cole. He died on the night of a high school dance while messing around in the back of a pick up truck. He fell out and it killed him 12 yrs ago. His story is particularly sad, as he was the only son of a couple and also happened to be adopted. His mother can be found sitting at his grave almost every day, bringing decorations and mourning him still. In stark contrast to what I was taught as a child, this sad mother and father have no faith or understanding of a Heavenly Father's love or of his plan. Sad as it is, her sorrow always strengthens my own understanding and own testimony.
















It was a wonderful afternoon. If any of you are ever in the neighborhood, take a quick peek at this cemetery in Pocatello. It is well worth the stop and a fascinating place to wander around. It is truly hallowed ground.