Approaching the bench

There is no doubt that I’m writing a post today about something nice. But, because of the way my world works now, I can’t escape the fact that this nice thing is only happening because something awful – Colin’s death – had to happen first. So, I guess that’s my depressing way of saying here’s something good.

Most of my US cousins – and I have a ton; my Dad was the youngest of eight – got together in the last few months and chipped in money so that my cousin Barbara and her cousin Steve could have a stone bench in Colin’s honor installed in a cemetery on their property in Texas.

I realize as I’m typing this that sounds a bit creepy: Barbara and Steve do not live in a suburban subdevelopment with a cemetery where someone else might have a pool. They live on a decent chunk of land outside San Antonio that was handed down through her father’s side (we’re related on her mother’s side) from one of the first settlers in the region. And this property came with a family cemetery that is recognized by the state and is, if I’m not incorrect, always required to be accessible for people with relatives buried there (correct me if I’m wrong, Barbara).

So, a lot of her distant relatives are buried there. And, when my Dad died in 1999, it seemed like a good place to bury him. I think he specifically requested it, actually. My Mom is next to him too. And now there’s a bench in Colin’s memory, right next to the grandparents he never met. When the project is done, it will have, and I quote Barbara here: “deer proof landscaping, 4 cedar posts with a roof frame and metal roof, and adding a small place where children who visit the cemetery can play with LEGO blocks, Disney cars, and Curious George in memory of Colin.”

I must say, aside from the gesture, which is deeply touching, I do love the fact that the landscaping has to be deer proofed. His cemetery in Berlin has a gate to protect the sites from boars. In Texas, his bench needs protection from deer. The boy has a thing with wildlife in the hereafter.

I haven’t thanked Barbara yet (the email is coming, I swear, I’m just a mess with email these days), but it is nice to know there is a memory of him now in his other home country, even if he never once set foot there. We have already been toying with the idea of coming out to Texas some day. This makes it all the more likely.

But beyond the gesture, it makes me happy on a level that still surprises me. Ever since it became clear he would die, I’ve been mad that he will be forgotten. Now it’s true, most of us will be forgotten. But you hope you’ll carry on in some small way. Maybe your great-great-great-grandchild will cook chili the way he or she does because you learned this from your Dad and you taught your children and maybe this one small thing will carry on. My children will remember me while they’re still alive. Maybe there’s even some young reporter out there whom I taught how to use a semicolon and they’ll keep doing that right for years after I’m gone. It shouldn’t matter, and yet it does.

And I worry that no one will remember Colin. And I know, of all the things I had to worry about, this is sort of an odd one. But it bugged me. And a bench in Texas isn’t going to change that, but it makes the situation a little less awful. And for that, I’m grateful.

If you’re ever in Texas, let me know and I’ll give you directions to the cemetery. I hope as many of us as possible get a chance to sit on the bench and enjoy it. Maybe, if Colin has his way, you’ll even get to chase a deer away from the landscaping.