Wednesday, October 2, 2019

The Road to the Cemetery :: Narrative Memoir Essays

The Road to the Cemetery The smell of cigarette smoke was strong; the leather couch reeked of it. Next to the couch was a nick-knack rack and on it were a little china girl, maybe Jill, and a little china boy, Jack; there was a glass wishing well near them too. Little glass dogs, a china cat, some shiny rocks, a little box, and a plastic Hawaii hula baby lived on the rack as well. Grandma opened the doors and all of the windows; today we were to begin cleaning out Aunt Beth's house. I looked out the front door, saw clouds were coming, and in the distance, I saw lightning flash. Today was nothing like those days nearly two weeks ago when Aunt Beth had died, and was then laid to rest. I remember the year my Great Great Aunt Beth died. Being little, people would speak quietly about her declining health and expect my cousins and I not to understand, thinking that they were sheltering us. "She isn't doing well," someone would say. "No She isn't," would be the reply, "and she refuses to take her oxygen when she goes out." "I know, she won't even have it on when someone visits." "It embarrasses her." "It shouldn't lots of people have to have oxygen" "She left it on when I went to visit her the other day, that proves that she's really not feeling very well at all." Another time I was told straight out, "Honey, Aunt Beth doesn't feel well, I don't know if she'll ever get better." This statement was wrong I was sure, she was my Aunt Beth and she would get well. I would look at her sometimes, trying to see why everyone thought she was unwell. She looked like she always had; maybe her back was a little more crooked she had Scoliosis. Her voice was just a little rough and perhaps she coughed a little more. She still gave me a sound hug when I saw her. Aunt Beth did not go on picnics with the family anymore, because she was to old Grandma said. I did know she did not feel well, but she never had felt well as long as I could remember. She did not try to shelter her many nieces, nephews, great nieces and great nephews she knew we would find out sooner or latter. She used to say "My bones ache, my hands hurt, my back aches, I have trouble walking so I had to get me a cane, and I can't sleep for coughing.

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