This past weekend, the family gathered at a small wooded cemetery outside of Pedee, Oregon to bury part of my grandmother’s ashes. (The remainder of the ashes are sitting on the china cabinet downstairs and will go into the memorial garden at my parish, where she was a member for more than 35 years.) Stories were shared, some tears were shed, a Baha’i prayer on the death of women was shared, I read part of the commendation prayers from the Book of Common Prayer, and her obituary was read as well. The grave flowers are from my mom’s dahlia patch, which provided many flowers placed in Grandma’s room over the last three years.
Pedee is a very special place for all of us. I didn’t appreciate it the first time I went there in elementary school (we were in the area on the way to Washington and I kind of wanted to just get to my grandparents’ house), but I fell in love with it when I was there in 2006 to bury Grandpa. It’s a peaceful place and everyone comes when there’s a burial. (A second or third cousin of mine flew out from New York as a surprise for the occasion. I hadn’t seen her in 16 years, so it was special that she came, especially as she had only met Grandma a handful of times.) Two of the daughters of Grandma’s sister, my great-aunt Jean, were able to join us from Montana, so that was incredibly special. I hadn’t seen them for 15-20 years despite living in Montana for 4 1/2 years during that time.
This is the grave of my great-grandparents and their infant son Dickie.
My cousin Erik, who passed away a few years ago.
My grandfather, who passed away in 2006. I talk about his burial here.
My grandma. She was buried in a Chinese ginger urn with her wedding ring. We are so happy that she is back beside her “roommate”, as she and Grandpa used to call each other.
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