solemn memory
I'm on a bit of emotional overload right now.
On Sunday Drew and I took a trip to Staten Island, to visit United Hebrew Cemetery.
It's where most of my mother's family is buried. My mother's Uncle Sam was an officer of a burial society and sold plots to all of his family members. My mother's 93-year-old cousin is now the president of the (defunct) society, and the only remaining members are our relatives.
My father's family is buried in Beth David, in Elmont, not too far from the Belmont Racetrack, and I had always assumed that my parents would be buried in Beth David, too. But a few years ago, my parents informed my sisters and me that they'd chosen to buy plots in United Hebrew.
The cemetery was founded in 1905 in what was then a rural part of Staten Island. The roadways through the facility were not designed for modern vehicular traffic. (Bad as United Hebrew is, Beth David is even worse...)
It is Jewish custom to visit the graves of loved ones annually, just before the High Holy Days. It's not a custom I have observed as an adult. I had not been back to United Hebrew since the day of my father's funeral, October 10, 2015. (No, we did not have a formal unveiling...)
I said Kaddish for my father for the requisite year, I've gone to synagogue every year on his Yartzheit, but I had not visited the grave.
And I don't understand why I needed to go now...but I needed to go.
As soon as I drove through the gates I felt a flood of memories. When I was a little girl, my mother and father would come here just before Rosh HaShanah with my grandmother and my aunts, and meet up with my mother's aunts and uncles and cousins. The cemetery would be crowded, so we'd have to park by the office and walk to the grave sites. Young rabbinical students would be there to say prayers if requested (for a small donation, of course). And my mother's Uncle Sam would give us Chicklets.
But on Sunday...there was a funeral going on in another section, but otherwise we pretty much had the place to ourselves.
So I was able to visit all the relatives....my grandfather, who died in 1943...my grandmother, who died in 1996...my aunts...I had a hard time finding rocks to leave on the headstones, but eventually managed.
And then...a conversation with my father. Love. And anger. And tears.
And I still feel so unsettled.
On Sunday Drew and I took a trip to Staten Island, to visit United Hebrew Cemetery.
It's where most of my mother's family is buried. My mother's Uncle Sam was an officer of a burial society and sold plots to all of his family members. My mother's 93-year-old cousin is now the president of the (defunct) society, and the only remaining members are our relatives.
My father's family is buried in Beth David, in Elmont, not too far from the Belmont Racetrack, and I had always assumed that my parents would be buried in Beth David, too. But a few years ago, my parents informed my sisters and me that they'd chosen to buy plots in United Hebrew.
The cemetery was founded in 1905 in what was then a rural part of Staten Island. The roadways through the facility were not designed for modern vehicular traffic. (Bad as United Hebrew is, Beth David is even worse...)
It is Jewish custom to visit the graves of loved ones annually, just before the High Holy Days. It's not a custom I have observed as an adult. I had not been back to United Hebrew since the day of my father's funeral, October 10, 2015. (No, we did not have a formal unveiling...)
I said Kaddish for my father for the requisite year, I've gone to synagogue every year on his Yartzheit, but I had not visited the grave.
And I don't understand why I needed to go now...but I needed to go.
As soon as I drove through the gates I felt a flood of memories. When I was a little girl, my mother and father would come here just before Rosh HaShanah with my grandmother and my aunts, and meet up with my mother's aunts and uncles and cousins. The cemetery would be crowded, so we'd have to park by the office and walk to the grave sites. Young rabbinical students would be there to say prayers if requested (for a small donation, of course). And my mother's Uncle Sam would give us Chicklets.
But on Sunday...there was a funeral going on in another section, but otherwise we pretty much had the place to ourselves.
So I was able to visit all the relatives....my grandfather, who died in 1943...my grandmother, who died in 1996...my aunts...I had a hard time finding rocks to leave on the headstones, but eventually managed.
And then...a conversation with my father. Love. And anger. And tears.
And I still feel so unsettled.
Powerful posts. My parents are buried at Wellwood Cemetery out on Long Island. Shameful confession, I have not been out to visit my parents since my Dad's unveiling in 1987. Visiting final resting places is emotional to say the least. My spouse and I both have a lot of visiting to do now. My beloved aunt and uncle are in one of the cemeteries near Citi Field and many of his family are in Gate of Heaven near Valhalla. (We actually did visit his parents, in Westchester, over the weekend, with her best friend, whom we were visiting.) Yes.....Alana ramblinwitham.blogspot.com
ReplyDeleteAlana, you live a lot further than I do ...
ReplyDeleteI'm now thinking about a trip to Beth David. Staten Island is a bit of a hike, Beth Da I'd is much closer to where I live.
Interesting that you currently feel the need. There must be something you're working through on a subconscious level. Which is good, I would think. I've never felt like my relatives are in the ground (so to speak), so going to the cemetary never feels necessary for me. But we all process these things differently. I hope you are able to process all this and get the emotional issue dealt with (although, are we ever fully through our emotional stuff?).
ReplyDelete