Journal entry by Al Negstad — a minute ago
The only sounds were the honking of geese from the endless flocks overhead. The sun was bright and there were no tracks, neither human nor mechanical disturbing the snow. Big drifts were piled behind the evergreens blown up by powerful prairie winds. Standing still in my tracks I was held by the immutable reality that Joanne lies where we left her last April, now for a whole summer, fall and winter with all but the marker covered by snow.
Strange thoughts filled my mind. Did grandma visit grandpa's grave? Frequently? Did my father spend time there, remembering? Who will wander by and try to make sense of the relationship between grandparents and grandson after I'm buried? Why was it important to Joanne to be buried here? Why didn't I ask her? How can it be almost a year since she died?
Blessings,
Al
The pictures speak for themselves.
Strange thoughts filled my mind. Did grandma visit grandpa's grave? Frequently? Did my father spend time there, remembering? Who will wander by and try to make sense of the relationship between grandparents and grandson after I'm buried? Why was it important to Joanne to be buried here? Why didn't I ask her? How can it be almost a year since she died?
Blessings,
Al
The pictures speak for themselves.
