The little chapel was empty yesterday, so I slipped in, walked to the old upright piano at the front of the room and sat down on the bench. Putting my hands on the keys, I played On Jordan’s Stormy Banks. It’s an old hymn, not sung any more but very much a part of church services a few years back, or funeral services. I wondered how many voices, gone from this earth for many years, had sat here and sung that song.
You see, yesterday was Decoration Day at Caney. My family and I had put flowers on the graves of our loved ones and were getting ready to leave. But something about the open doors of the chapel and the neglected piano called to me. I remembered some of the funerals held here, heartbreaking times.
But yesterday at Caney, we recalled good times. I explained to my granddaughter who this relative or that one was, told her a bit about them and she, who carried the basket of flowers, learned a bit of family history. She looks forward to that each year.
It was also a day of meeting kin, shirttail kin, and perfect strangers; but we had a connection a long time ago. One man stood beside a headstone with a name that was familiar. I asked him if he knew the particular person I remembered.
“Why yes,” he said. “He was my grandfather.”
I told him the story of how my parents and I had gone to his grandfather’s farm to help him make sorghum. I must have been very small, four or five years old, but I recall tasting the warm, sweet molasses as it foamed down a wooden spout and into a bucket.
I met and talked with others, strangers, but we shared a common ancestor or friend from the past. Years fell away as we remembered.
Mom and Dad told me smatterings about so many of the people whose graves are there, interesting stories, interesting lives. They shaped a bit of Oklahoma history, they made their community what it was. Sad to say, many of the graves are now forgotten. No one is left who remembers or cares enough to place a flower at a headstone. I always wonder why.
One of my first little kindergarteners, also a relative, was there to meet us and walked with us as we went from resting place to resting place. He is not small any more; he has children of his own and is very much into genealogy and family history.
All in all, the day that I dread each year went well. I recalled good times, touched base with many others who had come to pay their respects, and said a silent Thank You to God for allowing me to know and love the people who rest there.
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Enjoyed being with y’all yesterday.
I’m glad you were there, Brian.
It was good to see you. I have lots of memories of that chapel and graveyard. I have over thiry family members buried there. We had the services for our twins just outside the chaple under trees where many of dinners have been shared. My Mom’s service was held inside the chapel. I have been told my Grandfather Anders help in building the chapel and dug many of the graves.
As we visited with friend and family we too talked about how some of the graves were not decorated. so many of are family that decorated the graves, now rest in the graves through out the cemetery. I have tried to write a little about each one of them to pass on. I keep thinking I need to write down my memories of the cemerty also. On my to do list.
It was good to see you too, Sharon, and talk about the family we have in common. So many people lie at Caney and each one has a story. It truly is a part of history.