Pilgrimage To Alma

I recently took my first trip back up to Alma in over 7 years. I wanted to visit the cemetery where my Aunt Mollie, Uncle Maurice, and Grandma & Grandpa Altman are buried. I haven’t gone to Alma since Uncle Maurice’s funeral and my Grandfather had died in 2006, but did not have a formal burial… so there was never an official ceremony for me to say goodbye. Even though the last time I saw my Grandpa Altman, I walked away knowing that was the last time I’d see him alive. I didn’t know what to expect when I got there. I kept thinking of how different my life would be if they were all still around. The mandatory commutes up to Alma for Easter and X-Mas, passing Uncle John's Cider Mill, the lake with all of the beaver houses, the old oil refinery with it's torches burning, and ending up in a shaded driveway and running to the garage side door to kick off my shoes before stepping on a thick white shag carpet of the living room. A warm welcoming home was suppose to be waiting for me... one that I had such a hard time leaving that as a way to keep my brothers and I from fussing, Grandma would give us all those orange marshmallow circus peanuts. Instead, there was no beavers in that lake and the refinery was long gone... there was no loving family waiting there expecting us.

I brought flowers and I made sure the tombstones were clean. My dad had said there had been some delay in updating the tombstones with the date of death’s, so he asked me to make sure they had finally done so. I thought I would sit there in front of their graves for a good while just talking out loud as if they could hear me. I brought Anne because in a way I wanted her to “meet” these relatives that meant so much to me. I had my best friend there and I would've liked to have him hear my brother and I tell stories about when we were kids and the connection we felt with this part of our family.

Anne just stood behind me with her head down, my brother could hardly look at the graves without crying, and Kevin quietly stood to the side respectfully. All I did was kneel down at both tombstones and said a silent prayer before kissing the dirt. Then I left. I don’t know why. It took no more than 10 minutes. There was little reflection of these 4 people and the lives they lived. Truth is I guess I didn’t know them very well. I was apart of my dad’s second family. It was Chris, Beth, Eddie, and Mike that grew up with them. Kevin, Andy, and myself hardly had a chance too. It’s making me think about things that I don’t want to think about.

The plots around my Grandparents and Great Aunt & Uncle have since been filled. I guess I always thought my dad would be buried with them, but I saw with my own eyes that that isn’t the case. I don’t know what will happen. All I know is I’m not involved. My father is in his 60’s and in poor health. He doesn’t expect me to take care of him during his last years like he did for his father. My dad has his fourth wife and a third try at a family with Lena and Gregory. The truth is I don’t know him very well. I don’t know many of his stories or much of what he did with his life. When he passes, I won’t have much more to remember of him than I do of Aunt Mollie, Uncle Maurice, and Grandma & Grandpa Altman. At least those 4 always had each other. I wish I had what they had or at least shared in theirs. They have always been the only real family I ever knew. All that this last trip to Alma did was make me realize that I don’t feel like I was related to them.