Recently we had a special weekend with the grandkids. For part of the weekend, we split into two groups. Mark was doing one on one time with the boys and Briella and I went on a journey. Mark and I both had some projects we wanted to “hire” out, things that were neat to watch be done, and see the creativity and thought process of the grandchildren and not us, and in the meantime a way for the kids to take on some tasks for hire.

My journey with Briella started with a trip to a cemetery about 20 minutes away. The task was she was to take a major role in adding flowers to my parent’s grave. We had no idea what cleaning, scrubbing, or weeding would be required, but whatever was needed she was the girl for the job.

When we got there, Briella had some flowers that she was in charge of designing and how to put them around the headstone. We talked about the plans and stopped at the dollar store for a scrub brush and cleaning spray, and then we were off on our mission number one.

When we got there she was so precious, so intent on making the arrangement look welcoming, loving, and special. I let her lay the flowers out and decide just how they should be.

As she was placing them she read the headstone, the dates of birth and death, and their names, and asked some questions about them. She asked about my mom and dad, and what were they like. It was truly one of those times memories are made of.

It was cool talking to her and watching her as she created the final arrangement.

And once she had them just right, they looked beautiful, she made sure they did not cover their names, yet accented their special lives.

We had such a nice talk, and as we were getting ready to leave, we spoke about other headstones there. She started reading names and checked to see if the family had written things on the headstone other than names. She was amazed at the dates, some back in the 17 and 18 hundreds. Some had so many children’s names on them, some with just one or two names on them.

As she read some and we talked about the different headstones, she said so profoundly, ” Gramma these are really all our relatives!” We are all related in a way, aren’t we? ” As I thought about it, if we look back at Adam and Eve, well I guess we are in some way we are all brothers and sisters, we are all family.

We drove through slowly, we saw a headstone with a crane on it, another with memories of the wars people fought in, wars that are mentioned in history books, but seeing a stone and a name and the war they partook in, it made it kind of 3 dimensional.

Our trip, my goal for her task, was meant to be one on a positive note, one that we could share time, no doom and gloom at all, just a way for us to pretty up the place my parents are. And it became so much more than that, as we explored and pondered what people were like, what they did. She was so prophetic so gentle, so innocent, so loving.

Through the mind of a young girl, we had such a memorable time.

Until later, Mrs Justa alias Cindy