I did my regular trip to visit the cemetery . I brought my camera this time. I was hoping to capture what I think about when I am there. IT's like a low rise community. The markers are set in a straight grid pattern, like city sidewalks. I walk
along the markers,looking for Bob's. The backs of the markers are numbered, so I can usually tell where I am. I almost always come up near his grave, even when I think I might be on the wrong street. I read the markers. Some have as much on them as the government
allows. Some are cryptic. Name , day of birth, death date.
There was one I noticed today at the end of a row, almost as if it were not with the others. It was, but it felt aloof. Maybe in life, the occupant was a stranger. The marker was
one of those that only had a name and dates. I wondered if anyone would care enough to visit. Was he always lonely. Near Bob's grave is another Jewish man. He almost always has a number of stones on his marker. it is customary for Jews to place a stone on
the grave to tell the person that you were there. There might be a more sophisticated reason, but this is the one I go with. Today, after I went to Mayakka State Park, I found a great stone to bring next time. I usually put a shell on the grave marker.
While I was walking among the graves, I saw that some sod had been disturbed. The marker had the veterans name and info and in front of it was a paper, temporary marker that gave the spouses name and death info. She died almost a year from the day that he
died, and had recently been buried with him. Maybe she couldn't live without him. Or she was waiting for him to go first. Wives always think that their husbands can't manage without them. Even in death. You can write a lot of stories just walking along those
streets of graves.