There are the history chasers. . .

There are the ones who find peace among the dead. . .

There are the visitors who are compelled to drop by every relative’s grave that they can find.

And there are those who are not comfortable visiting at all.

I find all of these valid, but I appreciate visiting accompanied by elders who tour me around, especially since I left my birth/home city over 40 years ago – – and have never lived there since.

I spent an hour wandering Woodlawn in Saskatoon, SK, a few weeks ago with an aunt.

There’s my father.

There are my maternal grandparents.

There’s an uncle.

There are folks who babysat me when I was a child.

There are people I grew up with, parents of girlfriends of my youth.

Parents of friends. Folks I knew from church. Folks I knew from Ukrainian circles. Folks I knew through youth choir. . .

There’s a lot of history there. Personal history.

History that will mostly disappear in a few more decades.

But that’s fine.

We put names in stone.

Not many generations down the line will remember or recognize them.

But for those who had personal relationships, a quiet afternoon among the stones can mean a lot, eh?