The words better known

Recently, my mother died. She joined my father who died several years ago. Although my mother lived the last fifteen years or so of her life in Baltimore, she was buried next to my father in Winchester, Virginia.

Because my mother died in Baltimore, her funeral service was there and her body was shipped to Winchester a few days later. I was unable to attend the burial but did attend her funeral. As such, I thought it appropriate that I travel to Winchester at a later date to visit the burial site to pay my respects.

I did so recently after a brief stay at my mother’s house in Baltimore. It is a long drive to Winchester from Baltimore, so I had a lot of time to think of something to say to show my respect to my parents for the sacrifice they made raising us six children.

I struggled to find the proper words to convey my feelings. I searched for the words that were better known, words like sacrifice, for all the things they went without so we didn’t have to, words like respect, for the way they didn’t butt into our lives , and words like love, for the way we knew they felt about us.

It seems that when you become a parent that is when you realize what a sacrifice it is to be a parent. You tend to take things for granted when you are on the receiving end of things rather than the giving end. I wanted to find the words to convey how much I appreciated what they had done for me and my siblings.

My parents weren’t perfect, but neither were we as children. I am sure one thing we all knew, however,  was that we were their whole life, and at this moment that is all that really matters.

So, I struggled to find words that were better known. Words like laughter, which was always present when we were together, words like wisdom, for the advice they were fond of giving us, words like responsible, which was how they raised us to be.

When I got to the cemetery I struggled to find their grave markers. There were so many. I had a map, but it didn’t make much sense to me. I searched haphazardly for a long while, even considering leaving at one point as I was in a hurry to return on the long drive home.

I stood for a moment feeling the temper that I inherited from my father growing inside of me, then looked down at my feet and there I saw his name etched on a bronze grave marker . Alongside it was a similar marker for my mother. My father’s mentioned his service in World War II. My mother’s marker mentioned her birth day in 1928 , but it was so fresh it did not yet list the day she died.

I struggled to remember the words that I wanted to say, the words that were better known. But I could only stand there and cry. At that moment I wanted to see them again, like I always did when I traveled up north.

The only word I could muster the strength to say was goodbye. I am sure they understood that in the end, the words not said were the words better known.