To Honor My Father

I was squinting at the old marble walls, looking for my father's marker. I can't remember where he is buried, for I haven't visited the site since the funeral in 1971. He is in a drawer, a crypt, in a Jewish Mausoleum. It is quite odd to be reading a wall, rather than looking at headstones. Where is he? It is quiet in this building, with only the sound of the wind politely moving through the hall. So many stories, so many names. I suddenly strikes me that I must read everybody else's names in order to find my father's. I must honor the others who have passed on in order to locate my own family member. How fitting, how right. I can't find my father's drawer, but I now take the time to read the other names of mothers, fathers, children and spouses. Somebody loved them, so I will remember them, too. Take a moment. Write down the names of your loved ones. Everybody. If they have passed on, take a moment to picture them in your mind. Say hello. Thank them. Out loud.