On Memorial Day, we decorated graves. I didn’t even get to it last year, and every year it seems more meaningless, but my mother wanted to, so up the hill we went.
At the cemetery, we ran into my cousins who live 60 miles away. My cousin and I only have a few genes and ancestors in common, but I’ve always liked her. She looks much older than I do, mostly because she’s smoked cigarettes for years while I’ve been hiding away from sun and expensive vices.
She told us about going on her daughter’s wedding cruise for 8 days. I didn’t even know she had a daughter, let alone that she was married.
It’s odd running into people every year or two at the cemetery on Memorial Day. I met a cousin a few years ago who was looking at our mutual great-great-great-grandfather’s grave. She emailed me for awhile, but when I declined her invitation to set me up with a friend of hers, she never bothered again.
This nearly random running into relatives, or finding out that your brother visited town, but didn’t bother to see you–it’s all part of the isolation of my life, the way I am not worthy of being a friend or having a close relationship with anyone, but hey, at least some of them, like my smoker cousin, say hello.