The occasion today was for the interment of my mother's only brother, Jerry Stidham (see my post of Saturday, December 1st). Uncle Bob, as we called him, was buried there in a beautiful spot in the shadow a huge pine tree, just behind the lots where my paternal grandparents are buried. Family and friends gathered around the grave site on a cold, windy but bright and sunny day, each one with their own memories and thoughts.
My memories came flooding back in waves that caused my eyes to well up with tears. The first time I visited Forest Lawn was in 1955 when my Mamaw Adkins was buried there. The tree that now towers over that part of the cemetery was just a sapling then. The cemetery was smaller then - much smaller and I was reminded today of how many times we had come to that place over the past 52 years.
The first time at Forest Lawn was to bury Dad's mom. She had died unexpectedly from a blood clot that had developed after a successful gall bladder surgery. I remember the long car ride in the funeral procession from Huntington. Even though I was only five years old I remember vividly seeing my Dad's brothers and sister so grief stricken. I remember the oldest brother, my Uncle Buck", crying out, "Oh mommy! Oh mommy!" Dad was more under control, but it is the first and maybe only time I ever saw him cry.
Then four years later it was time to make the long trip to bury Papaw beside her. He had been gassed in France during World War I. No one knew for sure, but most of the adults considered that was why he had contracted lung cancer. After a number of radiation treatments he finally passed away in the VA Hospital in Huntington. The family knew what was coming because he had been dying by degree for two years. The finality of it all still came as somewhat of a shock.
The pine tree had grown enough by 1959 to serve as an identifiable marker sufficient for a nine year old boy to easily find the Adkins tombstone in a growing cemetery.
We visited Forest Lawn a number of times over the next nine years - not every time we were in Logan County- but on a fairly regular basis. We always came on Memorial Day to decorate the graves. Forest Lawn was a well manicured "perpetual care" cemetery, much different from the remote, hilltop "family grave yards" where my great grandparents were buried. Those always required a lot of weed whacking and brush clearing each year when we spent the holiday clearing and decorating old grave sites.
Then came 1968 when Papaw Stidham died at the age of 59 with a sudden massive heart attack. He too was buried at Forest Lawn. By that time the cemetery had grown far around the hillside. He had purchased lots there several years earlier in the extension area of the cemetery. The Stidham tombstone was beautiful marble, kind of a pinkish color and different from most of the other gray markers. It marked the far boundary of the cemetery. As one looked down the steep hill there was a pond where ducks swam peacefully. Looking directly across the pond it was easy to identify the spot where Mamaw and Papaw Adkins had been laid to rest years before. The big pine tree marked the place well.
Mom and Dad continued to make the periodic visits to Forest Lawn in following years. I got married and began raising a family. Linda and I didn't get down to Logan as often as I felt we should. In fact, my visits there dropped off to one every two or three years, maybe. The kids grew up, work and ministry responsibilities mounted, and one day at a time - time rushed by. Then in 1996 Mamaw Stidham passed away. We laid her to rest beside Papaw on a sunny day in April, and marvelled at how the cemetery had grown half way up the hill overlooking the grave site. Their lots, which had once been on the outer edge of the cemetery were now surrounded by hundreds of other tombstones.
Over the years we buried my mother's Aunt Marge and Dad's younger brother Sammy up there. On each visit we marvelled at the sheer size of the growing cemetery and remarked about how much the pine tree had grown over the years.
Today, as Uncle Bob was laid to rest, all of the memories broke over me. Precious memories. Memories of loved ones who have been gone for as long as a half century. The tears that rolled down my cheeks - bittersweet - thinking of all my blessings, missing those who had meant so much to all of us, and wondering how that pine tree got so big.
Sure didn't seem like 52 years...
"For a thousand years in Your sight
Are like yesterday when it is past,
And like a watch in the night.
You carry them away like a flood;
They are like a sleep.
In the morning they are like grass which grows up:
In the morning it flourishes and grows up;
In the evening it is cut down and withers...
For all our days have passed away in Your wrath;
We finish our years like a sigh.
The days of our lives are seventy years;
And if by reason of strength they are eighty years,
Yet their boast is only labor and sorrow;
For it is soon cut off, and we fly away...
So teach us to number our days,
That we may gain a heart of wisdom.
Return, O Lord!
How long?
And have compassion on Your servants.
Oh, satisfy us early with Your mercy,
That we may rejoice and be glad all our days!..."
(selected verses from Psalm 90 NKJV)
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