Grandma Link died when I was just six years old. I have only snatches of memories of the times that my sister and I spent with her…mostly random memories both from the house she lived in and then the apartment she moved to toward the end of her life. But one thing that I still very vividly remember is her funeral.
Grandma Link’s funeral was my first experience with death (at least the first that I remember since my Grandma and Grandpa Washler both died before I was even 5). It’s funny the things that our mind holds on to as memories… I remember standing outside of the church before they had taken the casket in and talking with my father about why Grandma looked so alive. I remember him taking me for a walk to talk about death and what it meant. I’ll be darned if I remember what was said, but I remember the day and what the trees looked like. If I were to walk back into that church today, I am almost positive that I could point to exactly where I was standing when that conversation started.
Sometimes I think that one of the best things about family history research is the memories that it can bring back to the surface.