(Photo Illustration - MetroCreativeConnection - Letter to the Editor)

Well, it finally happened; a day when I had to keep saying, “I can’t.” We went to put flowers on the graves of loved ones for Memorial Day. My mother had asked in later years, “Who will remember them when I’m gone?” I told her I would. Today I failed her. I tried to get to the ones in the old cemetery with my walker. I really tried, but I couldn’t make it. I had to admit, “I can’t.” So my husband, Charlie, went the rest of the way. Then we went to where my mom and dad are. The hill is so steep even with my cane and Charlie’s hand I was afraid of falling backwards. Again I had to admit, “I can’t.” Charlie went on top of the hill to put the flowers on their graves, and others including my maternal grandfather who I called, Grannan, and his sister, my Great Aunt Reta.

Grannan and I shared a bedroom until I was 9. He took care of me when my parents both worked. I adored him. In return he had to put up with my ponytail having to be in exactly the right place, my shoes had to be tied with the bows straight across, and I insisted my socks be on the right feet. I loved when he would sit on the toilet with the lid closed and play the harmonica for me while I was taking a bubble bath. Grannan died when I was only 10 years old.

My Great Aunt Reta took me to the bakery one time when I was young. In the window was a wedding cake with its pretty topper. Because I stayed with Grannan so often, I informed Aunt Reta I had stayed home with Grannan when my mom got hers. Aunt Reta being of a prim and proper time, born in 1901, she was so embarrassed she told mom she could have stuffed me under the counter. In my teen years I would go have Sunday dinner at Aunt Reta’s. Sometimes she would cook with me like my grandchildren do with me now.

Down over the hill in the same cemetery are my dad’s parents. I remember staying all night at their house. It was a big deal that Grandma would fix a special lunch for me, homemade french fries and pop. She didn’t make me eat meat and drink milk. (Come to think of it, part of my grandchildren like to stay overnight and say they enjoy the special big breakfasts I cook for them.) One thing I remember about Grandpa is that he wore starched white dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. When he finished eating on Thanksgiving Day he would lean back in his chair to pat and rub his tummy, full and satisfied. Grandpa died when I was 12. I was an adult before I lost Grandma.

With help I was able to place flowers at the third cemetery where more of Mom’s family lies. Charlie had to go up another hill for his family. Then the last place we visited was where our and Mom’s dear friend, Norine, rests. Charlie pulled up beside the sidewalk and I placed flowers in the vase marked with her name.

For a day with multiple heartbreaking “I can’t do it,” I certainly had a lot of I “can” remember each of them. Remember your loved ones of the past and pay your respects to them the best way you can.

Bonita (Bonnie) Eaton

Vienna