A Cemetery is a Most Peculiar Place to Give Thanks

We're nearing the end of another Thanksgiving Weekend here in Canada. However, this year for me, Thanksgiving wasn't the same.

Back on June 8, I lost my great-gram. She was one of the most incredible people to have ever lived. Despite being 99 and three quarters, she was still sharp-tongued, quick witted, and doing her daily crossword puzzles in ink. Not having her around this year was sad, even though she was a ripe old age when she passed.

As today was glorious and full of sunshine, I took a walk to the cemetery to see her. Sitting beside where she's buried, all I could hear were the birds. I don't think I'd ever heard them squawk that loud before. The leaves rustled like mad too. Yet, everything was peaceful. Like every other visit, even before she passed, I did most of the talking. She was always content to just sit and listen.

What I talked about really isn't that important. Just a mish-mash of goings-on. Everything from schooling to the ARB. The usual life updates. Of course, she was always happy to have visitors, so even if I sat in quiet contemplation, she'd still be quite content.

Walking back home when I was done my visit, I knew what I was thankful for. I'm thankful that I was able to have my great-gram for almost 26 years. Certainly, there are others things that I could give thanks for, but this year, being thankful for Jean Lowden is what mattered most.