That seems to be the key number: sixteen. Sixteen years before I was born, my mom’s twin brother died, sixteen days before his 18th birthday. Yesterday I was able to go see his grave for the first time. Donald A. Stone. However, when I walked up from behind (as it was the first time, I had to walk around and search for it), for one split-second, I saw Donna written in place of Donald with the two Ns rather than one. I was sixteen when she died.

My mom was never buried. My Gramma spread her ashes in North Carolina, in the mountains, where my mom always seemed the happiest. But I know my mom, if anywhere in this human world, is not in North Carolina. She is just mere miles away from where she grew up, in a teeny cemetary mostly now populated by Spanish tombstones. Nunca te olvidaremos. Siempre te recordaremos. She is with her brother, as she wanted to be for the approximate thirty-two (sixteen + sixteen) years between their deaths. I did not know her before he died but I’m told she was never the same. She held grief in and did not let it go.

I am the opposite. I have lost three people dear to me and each time I have naturally accepted the fact that they are gone. I love them, I miss them, I grieve for them. But I don’t constantly suffer as she did. It’s a bargain, a decision. Because she held on, she had more tangible memories. I have found my memories fading in return for being able to live my life. It has been three years, eleven months, and three days since my mom died. In less than a month it will be four years. About a month ago, it hit me in the face that I find it hard sometimes to picture her, to hear her voice, to feel her. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to be able to constantly feel her presence. Every once in a while I can, but in return I grieve heavily each time. Like yesterday, like now.

I felt her at his grave. I knew that they were both there. She doesn’t have a physical resting place but that grave is shared by them.

I cannot put how I feel right now into words. I lack that.

In loving memory of Donald Allen Stone. July 25, 1953 - July 9, 1971.
In loving memory of Donna Ellen Stone. July 25, 1953 - November 11, 2003.

There were also two graves that caught my attention while there. One because it was immediately next to Don’s. There were no flowers in his cup-thing above the tombstone so I put some that I brought in his. Antonio Bustamante, “Nico,” Dic 3, 1920 - Nov 26, 2003, usted no es olvidado. As well as one a few rows back whose flower-cup-thing above his tombstone had been completely knocked over and had moss, spider’s webs, complete with spider himself who was not too happy that I rid it of its home. I fit the cup back into place, cleaned it up, and put flowers there as well. Ivory J Reid, 1913-1982, you are not forgotten.